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COPYRIGUFT DEPOSm 




















^he IDai^s of youth 


By 

Carl Boberg 


Translated from the Swedish 

By 

Olga E. Lindborg 



THE COVENANT BOOK CONCERN 
136 W. Lake St., Chicago, Ill. 





Copyright 

by 

THE COVENANT BOOK CONCERN, 
Chicago, Ill., 1924 


Contents 


I. A Meeting at the Cemetery Gate 5 


II. The Sabbath _,_20 

III. In Port. _37 

IV. In the City _49 

V. Letters and Poems _63 

VI. In the Church -118 



: . . .. 


















1 





Scandia Printing Co., 216-220 Institute PI. 
Chicago, Illinois 








A Meeting at the Cemetery 
Gate. 


I T was a beautiful summer evening. The 
clouds on the western horizon blushed 
like giant roses at the kisses of the set¬ 
ting sun. In the treetops the wind whis¬ 
tled weird rhapsodies. In the meadows it 
softly caressed the flowers and carried 
away of their fragrance with every waft. 
The birds rejoiced because summer had 
reached its zenith, and the air fairly echoed 
with their carols. 

Peacefully, in the harmony of such a 
summer evening, lay the little chapel in 
the very heart of an old churchyard. And 
as the birds sang in the branches of the 
shade trees that surrounded it and towered 
over the tombstones, it seemed as if they 
wished to remind the living that the dead 
lived and rejoiced in another world. Here 
and there folks roamed about the church¬ 
yard. Some were tending graves—plant¬ 
ing flowers and greens and watering them. 


6 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


By the side of a newly made grave, 
covered with faded wreaths and flowers, 
reminiscent of the burial day, stood three 
women, dressed in deep mourning. Ap¬ 
parently they were mother and daughters. 
The older woman wept bitterly. The 
daughters wept, too, but one could see 
that they tried to control their outburst 
of grief in order to comfort the mother. 
The mother seemed so frail and worn. It 
was evident that the new-made grave held 
the remains of the husband and father. 
How his wife must have loved him! Or, 
perhaps, there were worrisome circum¬ 
stances that now intensified her grief. At 
the grave so many memories come to 
life. Those who stand there grieving weep 
for various reasons. Some are over¬ 
whelmed because they loved so deeply. 
Others weep because they failed to love 
enough. 

The grave is such a silent place! The 
departed has ceased to speak with tongue. 
But so much clearer sounds the voice of 
memory, and the conscience of those who 
stand above the grave cannot be silenced. 
One of the most beautiful traits of human 


AT THE CEMETERY GATE 


7 


nature comes to the fore before the grave. 
The living find it easy to forget the faults 
of the departed one, and all the good that 
was in him seems to come to new life in 
their memories. It is as if all the good he 
ever did when he was in the flesh, arises 
after death to assert itself over all the 
sins and shortcomings of which he was 
guilty, and to excuse these and blot them 
out, and shield the holiness of his place in 
the hearts of those who loved and cher¬ 
ished him. Perhaps that is but one of the 
natural ways of love’s power in human 
life, revealing even in death the glory and 
beauty of that divine dynamic. 

If we could think and feel for each other 
in life with the same depth of kindliness 
as we do at the grave, our dwelling to¬ 
gether would surely be kindlier and more 
sympathetic than it often is. Why should 
not this thought help us so to live, seeking 
each other’s happiness? Suddenly enough 
w r e may part to meet no more until the 
judgment. Whether or not such thoughts 
as these were rife in the hearts of the 
widow and her daughters in that peaceful 


8 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


churchyard that beautiful summer even¬ 
ing our story will bye and bye reveal. 

On the road outside the churchyard 
gate came a young man, whistling idly as 
he hurried along. He might have been 
about twenty-two, and, to judge by his 
clothes, a seaman. His gait was energetic. 
His face was bright and comely. As he 
reached the churchyard gate he stopped 
and ceased his whistling. He heard some¬ 
thing to which his ears had not before 
been attuned. He heard the carols of the 
birds in the shade trees of the churchyard. 
He was about to slip into the cemetery 
when he saw three women, dressed in 
mourning, approach the gate. The eldest 
was weeping convulsively. One of the 
younger women was busily trying to com¬ 
fort her, as she led her tenderly by the 
arm. The other turned and looked back. 
Her gaze was full of gratitude, it seemed, 
and love, as well as sorrow, as she looked 
at the grave they had just left. As she 
neared the gate and turned to leave the 
churchyard, she almost collided with the 
youth. Their eyes met. Blushing, she 
hesitated a moment. Her face, becoming- 


AT THE CEMETERY GATE 9 

ly framed in the black hat and veil, which 
she wore, was beautiful and youthful. The 
blush on her cheeks, and the earnest, sor¬ 
rowful eyes enhanced that beauty. Youth, 
earnestness, purity, gentleness, beauty— 
presented itself incarnate before the young 
seaman. He felt compelled to doff his 
cap. And through him surged a strange 
feeling of something wonderfully wrought 
in happiness, and an appreciation of beauty 
that he never before had experienced. The 
young woman passed on her way with the 
other two. But the young man stood 
motionless by the cemetery gate a long 
while. He gazed after the women, until 
they were gone from view. And as he 
gazed he felt how, somehow, there was 
change of spirit in him. But a short time 
ago he had no thought about anything. 
Now he experienced a feeling of deep rev¬ 
erence, and his thoughts were rushing 
rapidly toward something coherent—co¬ 
herent because of reverence for beauty 
and purity and simplicity in life. Was it 
her gaze—this unknown young woman’s 
gaze—that had so, with sudden power, 
made this deep change in him? 


10 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


Yes, for as he looked after her, he 
thought: “If she would only turn and look 
at me before they disappear at the end of 
the road!” But what could such a gaze 
mean to him? It might be a last fond 
glance toward the grave they had just 
left! How childish of him ! But he thought 
it and wished it, nevertheless. 

And, sure enough! She did turn and 
gazed back! His heart beat quickly! It 
was as if a luminous star had arisen on 
the horizon of his life, shining just for 
him. And then she disappeared together 
with her companions beyond the bend in 
the road and the shadows of the trees. 

He felt so all alone. The sun was nearly 
set. But the birds still sang, and their 
song gladdened his heart. It was so clear 
and full of feeling. And then he began 
to realize that he was in the sleeping place 
of the dead. Was it for the dead the 
birds were singing? Anyway their warble 
was of life and hope, and not a sigh of 
sorrow marred a single note. Nor was 
there anything sad or depressive in the 
scent of clover and fresh green leaves 
that the wind brought him. It was just 


AT THE CEMETERY GATE 


11 


a perfect, peaceful summer evening for 
all living souls! 

But, as he sat there among the tomb¬ 
stones, the young sailor began to think of 
other days. He began to think of his 
mother. His mother slept in the church¬ 
yard, too. It was ages ago that he visited 
her grave. He was only sixteen when 
she was buried there. It was in midwin¬ 
ter that her grave had been dug. The 
snow covered everything. It stormed and 
blew the day of the burial, so that every¬ 
one shivered and suffered in the cold. His 
father, he remembered, caught cold that 
day and a long and severe illness followed. 
There had been hard times. Then one day, 
not long after his father had recovered his 
health, he remarried. There were little 
children in the home who had to have a 
mother. But for the young man, who 
now sat among the tombstones and re¬ 
minisced, there had been no home since his 
mother died. 

Now he recalled his mother and the 
happy days when he had had her love and 
care. Did he feel as deeply and beauti¬ 
fully about her as he had noticed the 


12 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


young woman, whose gaze had so trans¬ 
formed him, seemed to feel about the dear 
one in that newly made grave? He re¬ 
membered how deeply moved he had been 
when his mother on her sick-bed had 
spoken to him about her going away. 
Many a night he had wept himself to 
sleep, thinking about the things she said. 
In the daytime, among his comrades, it 
was easy to forget it all. His mother had 
often bidden him to sit beside her bed and 
read to her from the New Testament and 
the Psalms. And though he loved her and 
wanted to please her, there had been times 
when he rather would have spent his 
evenings among outside companions. It 
was so monotonous, he thought, to sit 
there and read to her. And then, too, he 
had to listen to her admonishment, when 
she warned him of evil companions and 
pleaded with him to seek God and His 
people and the ways of righteousness. He 
had to promise her all this. But his prom¬ 
ises were merely words. He never lived 
them. 

Right after her death he did think of 
them—thought of those promises that he 


AT THE CEMETERY GATE 


13 


had made her. At night he prayed and 
thought of her words: “Dear child, be 
kind and thoughtful toward your daddy 
and your sisters and brothers, and promise 
me that you will meet me in heaven, 
where I by grace shall be waiting for you 
all.” At times he would read a chapter in 
the Bible and repeat some of the Psalms 
that he so often had read to his mother. 
Indeed, he still remembered them. But 
soon he became neglectful even of the 
prayers and the reading. And gradually 
the beautiful memory of his mother faded, 
and her admonishments were forgotten. 

Now he thought about looking for her 
grave. He found it. But it was sunken 
and neglected. A little bird sat warbling 
on the small cross that marked it. This 
touched the young man’s memory and 
awakened a deep feeling in him. One of 
his mother’s favorite hymns came to mind, 
and he heard himself repeating a verse 
of it: 

“Like a bird at dawn, on wings of gladness 
With joy I enter into realms of light, 

Where harptones mingle with the songs of angels, 
And everlasting day shuts out all night.” 


14 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


The little bird flew toward the sunset. 
The young man’s gaze followed, and he 
stared into the west, as he sat there by 
his mother’s grave, until the twilight ent¬ 
ered. What he saw of beauty in that 
western sky, he had never before seen. 
The clouds fairly burned in splendor of 
coloring and light—fairy islands and giant 
mountains and endless seas! And then the 
shadows, until it all had faded out and be¬ 
come dusk and blue and one-colored be¬ 
fore the onslaught of night. “How wonder¬ 
ful,” he thought, “must be the glory land 
where there is no night! The homeland 
of the blessed!” And he recalled the pas¬ 
sage he had read to his mother the night 
before she died: 

“And the city hath no need of the sun, 
neither of the moon, to shine upon it: for 
the glory of God did lighten it, and the 
lamp thereof is the Lamb. And the na¬ 
tions shall walk amidst the light thereof: 
and the kings of the earth bring their 
glory into it. And the gates thereof shall 
in no wise be shut by day (for there shall 
be no night there) : . . . and there shall in 
no wise enter into it anything unclean, or 


AT THE CEMETERY GATE 15 

he that maketh an abomination and a lie; 
but only they that are written in the 
Lamb’s book of life.” 

And then he thought how little he had 
done to fulfill his promises to his mother. 
Would he ever enter the land, where he 
knew of a certain that his mother must 
be? His conscience told him that he could 
not hope to enter there if he continued 
to live as he had lived heretofore. Then 
he tried to compromise his conscience with 
the thought that most folks lived as he 
did. Would they all, then, be shut out of 
that city, turned away from that land? 
How then could God rejoice in His crea¬ 
tion? And yet, there was a verse of 
Scripture that said something about “striv¬ 
ing to enter through the narrow gate!” 
Yes, he had heard the minister say that 
in some sermon. The Saviour of Man 
must thereby have wanted to turn men’s 
attention to their own very personal re¬ 
lation to Him and His kingdom. To shield 
oneself among the masses, and defend 
one’s action under the mantle of the 
group, would be cowardly. Such could not 
save the spiritual life of the individual. 




16 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 





That had been the gist of the minister’s 
warning. 

Alfred, for that was the young seaman’s 
name, had an excellent memory. He re¬ 
membered nearly the whole of the cate¬ 
chism, and many, many verses of Scrip¬ 
ture. And the prayers and hymns of the 
Church Psalter were familiar to him word 
for word. He now recalled very especially 
the prayer for the evening—this Saturday 
evening that so strangely found him hov¬ 
ering over his mother’s grave. Although 
he did not repeat it aloud, he prayed in 
his heart: 

“Let me rest with my thoughts directed 
on Thee, with a heart that seeketh its 
peace in Thee, that seeketh its all in Thee, 
that I may feel secure in Thy divine care. 
Let me awaken to a new day, if so be Thy 
gracious will, prepared for Thy sabbath, 
fit to worship Thee and sing praises in 
Thy sanctuary.” 

It was an echo in his soul of days gone 
by, for it was long ago that he had re¬ 
peated that prayer. How strange that it 
should take hold of him now! But, then, 
he stood beside the grave of hi 

















AT THE CEMETERY GATE 


17 


She had come to the end of her week of 
toil and was celebrating the sabbath of 
the blessed. To him remained her love 
and her words of blessing and warning. 
Those must necessarily bring to the sur¬ 
face of his nature that which was best in 
him. He now lived over again the days 
of his childhood, when these best things 
were sown in his soul. He recalled how 
his mother came to meet him as he came 
from school in the late afternoon when it 
was growing dark. He always felt so safe 
when he held her hand as they hurried 
home through the deep woods. He was 
afraid of the dark. The lurking shadows 
were like great, prowling beasts to him. 
Then, in wintertime, when he would get 
his feet wet in the snowdrifts, his mother 
would anxiously draw him into the house 
and to the fireside, pull off the soggy 
boots and stockings, hang them up to dry, 
and make him glad and comfortable. When 
buttons tore off his jacket, as they so 
often did, how eagerly she sewed them on 
again. Always she worked, washed and 
mended, and did a myriad tasks energetic¬ 
ally like an ant. When his birthday came 



18 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


around, she always had a sweet surprise 
for him, and she would pat his head gently 
and say: “My little boy, the Lord bless 
you and keep you and guide you through 
life.” Somehow he felt now, as these 
scenes flitted by one by one on the retina 
of his memory, that his mother must have 
realized that she could not long be his 
guardian angel—that she would have to 
leave him before he was grown and strong 
and well on his way in life. 

His heart was melting. At least it felt 
as if it were. And suddenly Alfred be¬ 
came terribly aware of his sinfulness. How 
had he rewarded all this love and tender¬ 
ness and sacrifice that his mother had 
showered upon him? He had not even 
visited her grave a single time in three 
years, although he frequently had passed 
along the road by the churchyard. Tears 
came to his eyes. He bowed down and 
patted the grave. He longed to make his 
mother feel that pat, as if it had been 
placed on her cheek—a love-filled caress, 
full of sympathy and understanding—and 


remorse. 



AT THE CEMETERY GATE 


19 


And in his heart arose so many new 
feelings—strange and wonderfully sweet. 
It was as if a better world had opened its 
portals to him and let him breathe a 
clearer, purer, freer atmosphere. It was 
as if all the commonplace and grim and 
bitter things of life had fled, and left a 
clean board for a kindlier, a holier life 
within and without. 

“To-morrow,” he thought, “I am going 
to church in the morning and to the little 
mission house in the afternoon.” And his 
decision was prompted by a will to hear 
and learn and do as becomes a man who 
loves and fears his Creator. 

This decision grew even more firm as 
he walked away from the churchyard and 
met a drunken farmer on the road, riding 
along at wild pace and caring nothing for 
others, pedestrian or rider. 

“What a terrible way to drive home of 
a Saturday evening!” thought Alfred. “No 
reverence for living or dead, no thought 
of the coming sabbath, no pity for the 
horse, no shame for his drunken condi¬ 
tion, no fear of God! Truly, a Godless 
life is slavery!” 


II. 


The Sabbath. 

A S the church bells summoned folks 
to worship on Sunday morning, Al¬ 
fred wandered past his mother’s grave and 
entered the chapel in the churchyard. He 
went that way to church just to gladden 
his mother, as he thought, and show her 
that he wished to attend services. For 
he no longer counted her among the dead. 
He felt that somehow she was living and 
aware of him, following his actions with 
her loving interest. The sun shone bright¬ 
ly, and the birds had sung for him all 
along his journey churchward. Their carols 
were now mingling with the louder ones 
of the church chimes. 

From the chapel steps Alfred viewed 
the city of the dead. All the graves were 
bathed in sunlight, the grass was fresh 
with dew. The living, in their Sunday 
best, were sauntering along the paths. It 
seemed as if all were coming up to wor¬ 
ship in the House of God. 

20 



THE SABBATH 21 


As he stood there, enjoying this Sun¬ 
day morning scene of peace and content¬ 
ment, his gaze suddenly alighted upon two 
young women, dressed in white. They, 
too, were coming toward the church. 
Never had Alfred felt such joy of a sab¬ 
bath morning. The harmonious relation 
between living and death, earth and heav¬ 
en, the supernatural and the natural, pres¬ 
ented itself to him in very tangible ways. 
And with thoughts of deep reverence and 
rejoicing, he entered the House of God to 
pray. 

The hymns, the prayers, the Scripture 
reading were especially personal to him, 
and conversed with his soul as never be¬ 
fore. The sermon expounded itself about 
“that which was said of old” and “that 
which Jesus said.” The pastor tried to 
show his congregation the manner of 
Jesus’ beholding not only the outward act 
but also the inner motive—the emotions 
and the thoughts that lay back of every 
deed. In the eyes of Jesus bitter and 
hateful thoughts are akin to murder, and 
lustful thoughts akin to adultery. “Who 
then is without sin?” thundered the pulpit 



22 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


orator. And Alfred answered in his heart: 
“Not one!” But the pastor answered: 
“That one who has been forgiven his sins, 
who has been washed from guilt in the 
blood of the Lamb. And that blessed soul 
can be you, my dear friend!” 

Alfred had never before listened with 
such attention and such keen desire to 
know, as he did this Sunday morning to 
the sermon in the little churchyard chapel. 
And when the pastor talked at length 
about the fortunate soul that in the eyes 
of Jesus may be clean and sweet, Alfred 
felt as never before his great need of 
cleansing and sweetening. At the close of 
the sermon, when the congregation bowed 
in prayer, he not only bowed his head, but 
also his heart before the Throne of Grace, 
and sighed and prayed that he might be 
among them who shall inherit the king¬ 
dom of God. He prayed for forgiveness 
and new birth. 

As he left the church, he spied the three 
women, dressed in mourning, among the 
departing worshippers. They walked a 
little ahead of him, and must have sat be¬ 
hind him at the service. If his heart had 





THE SABBATH 


23 


rejoiced on the way to church, and been 
full of strange wonder during the worship 
hour, it now leaped almost beyond bounds 
of gladness as he beheld the three whom 
he had met the previous evening and 
through whose meeting his life had taken 
on a change. He could not analyze the 
ecstasy that surged in him. But he began 
wishing again that she—his star, as he had 
begun to think her,—would turn around 
and smile, would turn around and at least 
gaze at him! He wished it so much that 
he was tempted to pray God to grant it. 
But he hesitated about praying, for an¬ 
other thought rushed to mind, punishing 
this one. Surely it was the time to think 
only of God and his soul, as he wandered 
away from God’s House. 

But his wish was granted, nevertheless. 
It happened because some commotion in 
the church entry broke the deep stillness 
of the surrounding churchyard, and folks 
began looking back to see what had fallen. 
Just as she looked back, their eyes met! 
If she felt or thought anything of the inci¬ 
dent, Alfred could not tell, but her glance 
penetrated his soul! It filled him! He 





24 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 

could think of nothing else but her beauth 
ful eyes. Like a bit of driftwood on 
the stream his interest in the day’s ser¬ 
mon flowed out with her, as she dis¬ 
appeared toward the cemetery gate. But 
there remained a music in his heart, 
strange and sweet, yet sad to a degree 
that made him wish he might go away 
and be alone and weep. Why these emo¬ 
tions? His innermost being was like an 
April day with interchange of sun and 
rain, and nature waking up from sleep, 
still dreaming, and groping to find the 
assurance of a May. 

He retraced his steps to the broad shelf 
of the church entrance, and stood there 
gazing after her. Unknown, as she was 
to him, he felt for her a beautiful kin¬ 
ship, and realized that for him she meant 
more than anyone else on earth. Although 
she was dressed in somber black, she 
gleamed brighter to him than the girls in 
white, who had so fascinated his eye as 
he came up to service, and who now glided 
past him on their homeward way. 

But the three somberclad women had 
not gone out of the churchyard gate! No, 







THE SABBATH 


25 


there they went, along a side path of the 
graveyard. They were bound for that 
new mound, where they had been the day 
before. Alfred felt tempted to follow 
them. But something in his heart advised 
him not to do so. Instead he sauntered 
down the main roadway and to his moth¬ 
er’s grave. Bending over her sunken rest¬ 
ing place, he prayed again to her God a 
prayer for forgiveness and guidance and 
peace. The church bells tolled the Bene¬ 
diction. The whole air vibrated with their 
music. Alfred felt that he stood on holy 
ground. “The service in God’s House is 
over,” he thought, “but for me it has just 
begun—in my heart—and by God’s grace 
it shall continue every day of my life till 
He grants me the joy of the perfect Sab¬ 
bath in His heaven.” 

Human footsteps had almost deserted 
the churchyard as Alfred turned away 
from his mother’s grave. Nor was he 
adverse to being so all alone. But, as he 
neared the gate, he saw the three women, 
in black, a little ahead of him again. A 
carriage awaited them at the entrance. 
Alfred had mastered his emotions enough 


26 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


to reason how foolish it was for him to 
keep thinking of her. She was of high 
estate! The equipage witnessed of afflu¬ 
ence, he thought! And he was but a poor 
seaman! Besides he had only seen her 
twice, and perhaps he never again would 
meet her. He could not help, however, 
he had been so fascinated by her. Surely 
God has given hearts to the poor as well 
as the rich. And that which had so taken 
possession of his heart at the meeting with 
her had truly been naught but noble and 
good. Even if he never again should meet 
her, it seemed clear to him now that God 
had used her to point him the way up¬ 
ward and Godward. 

And yet, Alfred longed that she might 
once again turn and gaze at him. He 
prayed this time that she would. He fol¬ 
lowed her wistfully with his eyes as a 
flower turns to the sunlight, or a hungry 
child reaches for bread. “It’s a good thing 
she doesn’t know how silly I am!” he 
thought. He feared that the women might 
observe how eagerly he followed them. 

The elder woman had entered the carri¬ 
age. Alfred wondered which of the daugh- 




THE SABBATH 


27 


ters would follow her next. He wished 
his star would enter last. And she did! 
Would she turn and look back before the 
carriage door closed? Alfred hardly dared 
to stare with wide open eyes! His heart 
—his stupid, uncontrolable heart—thump¬ 
ed wildly. How well that she could not 
know it! 

But the miracle happened! She did 
turn and look back. She not only gazed 
toward but right at him! And it seemed 
to him as if there was an apology in her 
gaze, as if she wanted to tell him some¬ 
thing. The deep reverence that had em¬ 
braced his soul during the morning ser¬ 
vice swooped over him now. He stood 
still to hear the music that stirred within 
his heart. Zephyrs from enchanted coasts 
were playing around him. How strange 
that her eyes should have so wonderful 
a power over him to summon untold joys 
within his breast! He stood there and 
thought and thought and thought! 

The carriage drove away. Bye and bye 
Alfred awakened out of his reveries. He 
felt lonely. But he also felt so rich, so 
joyous, so altogether at peace with the 


28 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


world. He dwelt in a kingdom of light 
and life, where flowers bloomed and birds 
sang, and where fresh mountain brooks 
gurgled down blue hillsides into broad 
valleys, whose unlimited vistas of beauty 
stretched toward unexplored lands and 
endless skies—the wonderful kingdom of 
love! 

That afternoon Alfred betook himself 
to the little mission meeting house, where 
seamen often attended service. A sea¬ 
man pastor was scheduled to preach there. 
He was a young man, full of life and vigor 
and sympathies that reached the seafaring 
man. One could fathom from his manner 
of speaking that the young preacher had 
chosen his work through the urge of 
deep conviction that it was his duty and 
his privilege. He spoke of life’s tumult¬ 
uous sea, stirred by storm of lust and 
selfish aim. He spoke of the strident ways 
of men that led to wrecks. If only man 
would ask the Master of Life to enter 
the boat, and let the light from the Word 
of Life be the beacon for its course, no 
storms, however fiercely blowing, could 



THE SABBATH 


29 


send the craft adrift, or wreck it upon the 
rocks of tribulation. 

True, even the bark that has taken the 
Master aboard must meet with storms. 
Sometimes it may seem as if it were los¬ 
ing against the wind and wave. But the 
disciples of the Master have learned to 
pray and to trust. And in the darkest 
moment they can hear His voice, bidding 
the angry deep be still. 

The seaman pastor continued to speak 
of the temptations that beset the good- 
natured seaman as he steps ashore. “The 
sharks at sea are less dangerous by far,” 
he said, “than the sharks on land. For 
the land sharks show their teeth with 
smiles, and light up the city streets with 
enchantment and amusement. But their 
aims are no less destructive than the sea 
monster’s. For they rob the victim of all 
that he has, and finally crush him without 
mercy in the clutches of drunkenness and 
sin of every filthy description.” 

Then he went on to tell about the work 
of the seamen’s mission. He drew for 
his listeners its plan of providing legiti¬ 
mate pleasures and clean amusements for 


30 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


the sailor boy on land. He told of the 
visitations of the mission personnel aboard 
the ship in harbor, of the distribution of 
good books and of the Bible, of the open 
door at the mission house, where a library 
and rest room and many other inviting 
things were found that could help the 
young man find soul-peace and heart- 
comfort and a haven for his thoughts. 

Alfred thought all this very interest¬ 
ing. It revealed to him what Christian 
love did to counteract the evil that sur¬ 
rounded him, and give shelter and pleasure 
and edification to the sailor. Stories of 
actual experiences in the work .completed 
and illuminated the pastor’s talk. As the 
kindliness and reasonableness of the work 
unfolded itself to Alfred’s view, he deter¬ 
mined that he would seek the seamen’s 
mission house in every port to which he 
journeyed. When the meeting was over, 
he made up his mind to shake hands with 
the man who had spoken and so moved 
his sympathies. As he started for the 
platform, something unexpected startled 
his attention. The two young women in 
mourning come from a side room into the 


THE SABBATH 


31 




meeting hall. One of them stepped up on 
the platform, and seated herself at the 
organ. No, she was not the one whose 
eyes had bewitched Alfred. She was her 
sister. She commenced singing, accom¬ 
panying herself on the organ: 

“From deep within my heart, oh 
A longing wings its way, 

Jerusalem, my home, to thee! 

Fore there all pain and sorrow 
Shall cease and pass away.” 

The singer’s voice was beautiful, and 
she sang with deep feeling. The earnest¬ 
ness of the singer added charm and depth 
to the song. The silence and attention 
of the audience, that a few minute before 
had begun to stir about in noisy fashion, 
was now very marked. When the singer 
had let the last strains of the hymn die 
away, she intended to step down from 
the platform, but a deep bass voice rang 
out in the congregation: “Oh, please sing 
us another!” 

With a little courtsey and a sweet smile, 
the lady returned to the organ and sang 


32 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 

with all the depth of feeling she could 
muster: 

If I gained the world but lost the Saviour, 

Were my life worth living for a day? 

Could my yearning heart find rest and comfort, 

In the things that soon must pass away? 

If I gained the world, but lost the Saviour, 
Would my gain be worth the life-long strife? 

Are all earthly pleasures worth comparing 
For a moment with a Christ-filled life? 

Had I wealth and love in fullest measure, 

And a name revered both far and near, 

Yet no hope beyond, no harbor waiting, 

Where my storm-tossed vessel I could steer; 

If I gained the world, but lost the Saviour, 

Who endured the cross and died for me, 

Could then all the world afford a refuge, 
Whither in my anguish I might flee? 

Many an eye was tearfilled as the song 
ended. Because it had gone from the 
heart of the singer, it touched the heart 
of the listener. Alfred, too, began to wipe 
his tears. In his heart he blessed the 
singer, and blessed the moment that had 
brought him face to face with the two 
angels in black. He prayed fervently that 
he might gain the Treasure that so trans- 





THE SABBATH 


33 


cended the human heart and transfigured 
it that the possessor could lift and inspire 
and transform those who came in contact 
with it. He wished to cherish that Trea¬ 
sure in his own heart. But strangely 
enough, when he thought of the Divine 
love, he also thought of herl What joy 
it would be to have her , too! Could such 
wild dream ever come true? If she, as 
he now realized it, already possessed the 
divine gift in her heart, could she also 
come to love him. Surely his love for her 
would not crowd out his love for Jesus! 
Could it not be possible to unite the two 
—the divine and the human love in the 
human heart? 

As he pondered he saw quite clearly 
that her love, beautiful as it would be to 
him, never could outweigh the Saviour’s. 
Human beings must age and die. To live 
with eternal hope within their breast, they 
must have this greater love, of which her 
sister so feelingly had sung. Even if he 
dared offer her all the love his soul could 
give, she still would need the greater 
gift—the Saviour’s! She would, therefore, 
have to take a second place in his heart, 


34 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


and he in hers. The first Commandment 
warned of “other gods”. Man is so prone 
to worship the lesser lights, the incarnate 
ideals that come before his human eye. 

Alfred’s determination to shake hands 
with the seaman preacher was frustrated. 
The two young women in black were there 
beside him, and Alfred felt it would be an 
intrusion on his part to try to greet the 
pastor in their midst. That seemed to him 
like getting too close to fire. But how 
he did long for a glance from her. Per¬ 
haps he never again would see her. As 
he stood and stared toward the platform 
he spied a ring—an engagement ring—on 
the left hand of the woman who had sung. 
Then he noticed that the pastor wore an 
engagement ring, too. He read in these 
symbols the probable secret. Then the 
pastor nodded to her, who wore the ring, 
and spoke to her. In turn she beckoned 
to her sister and whispered something in 
her ear. The sister mounted the platform 
steps and seated herself at the organ and 
began to play. She played a fascinating 
prelude, then began accompanying her sis¬ 
ter who again sang a beautiful hymn. The 



THE SABBATH 


35 








men who had already wended their way 
out of the mission house began to come 
back. They seated themselves in small 
groups here and there in the meeting hall, 
and listened with an eagerness that be¬ 
spoke their heartfelt appreciation. Alfred 
remained standing. He wanted to see, if 
he could, whether the musician also wore 
an engagement ring. As she arose from 
the organ he spied a narrow pearl-studded 
band on the little finger of her right hand. 
No, he could not detect an engagement 
ring. Why this should cause him such a 
feeling of joy, he could not explain. But 
it did! It was sheer childishness of him to 
dream that such a lovely flower had grown 
for plucking at the knotted hands of a 
rough seaman. 

But she was gazing out over the chairs 
in the meeting hall! She seemed to be 
looking for someone in particular! Alfred 
wished that she might find him and grant 
him another glance like the one she gave 
him in the forenoon. He had hardly wished 
it when her eyes beheld him. A strong, 
warm, vibrant glance she gave him. Per¬ 
haps he was letting his imagination run 





















36 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


away with him! No, surely he was being 
scanned by those wonderful eys! And the 
same weird surgings tumulted in his breast 
as had torn their way in there at the other 
two meetings! 

With trembling knees Alfred sought the 
exit. “Can this be of Thee, dear Lord,” 
he murmured, “or is it merely my wild 
fancy that is carrying me away?” He 
wiped his brow and went on soliloquizing: 
“Is it Thy Spirit, Lord, or is it my sudden¬ 
ly awakened love for this young woman 
that makes me so queer, so uncertain at 
heart? Have you prepared for me a fate 
which I cannot see, cannot fathom, but 
which shall grow into being through this 
meeting with her? No matter, Lord, of 
one thing I am sure—I am richer and hap¬ 
pier than I have ever been before. And in 
the sufficiency of Thy grace, I will tread 
the path of righteousness hereafter. Keep 
me in Thy love and guide me by Thy 
hand.” 

It had been a perfect sabbath day for 
Alfred. 








' . r. . : - 





hi. 


In Port. 

S PRING had come after a long and se¬ 
vere winter of deep snows and thick 
ice. The most stubborn of the drifts were 
now melting leisurely before the warm 
breath of the spring sunlight, and the ice, 
groaning and breaking, was floating in 
large blocks from the shoreline out to sea. 
Soon the entire bay was clear of it. The 
waves once more sang joyously as they 
lapped the rocks and sand in their ebb 
and flow. Gulls began to congregate on 
the beach, and on an early morning one 
could hear echoes of riffle shots among 
the cliffs. Already the hunters were try¬ 
ing their vision and their aim from crev¬ 
ices in the rockbound coast, and setting up 
dummies to entice the gulls landward. 

Fishermen, too, were launching their 
boats and setting out toward the greater 
depths to lay their nets and haul in their 
catch. White sails fluttered merrily in 
the breezes among the small islands and 
along the bayline. 

























38 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


In port the longshoremen and the sailors 
had their busy days. One could hear the 
sound of the hammer all day long, and 
there were scraping and painting without 
end. The odor from the paintpot, and of 
tar and pitch, defied the smells from the 
sea. Dirty little urchins clambered among 
the riggings and the masts of the anchored 
schooners, vying with one another in ac¬ 
complishing the most daring stunts, trying 
to refach the top of the highest masts, 
thinking little about tears and smears and 
scratches either to skin or clothing. Driven 
from one ship, they would but hustle to 
another where, perhaps, the vigil was less 
strict. 

Aboard the schooners, in leisure hours, 
the seamen told wild tales. On the deck 
of a high-masted craft, called Hilding, a 
young sailor told of some fishermen who 
once invited a dare. The ship lay in port. 
The fishermen came aboard to sell of their 
recent catch. They were asked to have 
some coffee and a drink of gin. In the 
course of hospitality someone asked how 
far it might be to the top of the foremast. 
Another replied that it was so high that 

















IN PORT 


39 


the man who had asked the question would 
surely never reach it! This angered the 
fisherman who had asked it. The gin had 
gone to his head, and nothing could now 
defy him. He meant to show the smart 
retorter that nothing could keep him from 
reaching that top! Hastily he began to 
climb. As long as he kept looking upward 
and climbing hard, it went well with him. 
But the minute he looked down he lost 
his bearing and fell. Luckily he fell into 
the sea, from which his companions recued 
him. The only ill effect he suffered was 
a little nausea. But he kept saying that 
if he only had kept looking up, he could 
have climbed to heaven! It was because 
he turned and looked down that he 
swooned and fell. 

A pious old captain, who happened to 
overhear this story, chimed in and said: 
“Yes, boys, the old fellow is quite right. 
If we only look up we can climb far. If 
we look down, we are apt to lose our 
balance in life and fall—fall in sin and all 
its consequences.” 

“Yes, Captain,'’ replied the sailor. “But this 
old salt fell into the sea —not into sin!” 






40 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


“Well, I didn’t say so, did I?” responded 
the captain. “Nevertheless, you’ll admit 
that he fell as a result of his pride— 
foolish pride! I have fallen, fallen in sin, 
when I have looked down instead of up. 
I’m afraid you boys do not get my point 
of view in this little sermon.” 

“You are right, Uncle Berg, sounded the 
voice of a handsome seaman, who hopped 
over the scooner railing and joined his fel¬ 
lows as he spoke. “If we do not keep our 
gaze Godward when temptations come to 
us, we will soon fall.” 

The handsome young seaman and the 
old captain then greeted one another with 
a hearty handshake and moved along the 
deck to the captain’s cabin. 

“When did you arrive?” asked Captain 
Berg. 

“A little while ago by train. I’ve been 
at your house, too, to seek you. Your 
folks told me you had already boarded the 
‘Hilding’, so I came here.” 

“Well, how did you make out, my boy?” 

“Splendidly, thank the Lord. I passed 
the captain’s examination with good 
marks.” 


IN PORT 


41 


“Just as I expected!” said the older man, 
a ring of keen delight in his fatherly voice. 
“What is your aim?” 

“That is what I wish to talk over with 
you. I have just signed up for a first 
mate’s place aboard a freighter that car¬ 
ries iron and lumber abroad, likely to Eng¬ 
land, I presume.” 

“Then we shall not see much of you in 
this port, perhaps. I’m sorry! But you 
are not going immediately? Can’t you 
come home with me now and stay over 
night?” 

“If I may, I assure you I shall be de¬ 
lighted to visit with you until to-morrow!” 

As the two took their departure from 
the ship, there was a murmuring and a 
speculation among the crew as to who the 
new young captain might be. Someone 
said that he knew him as the son of a 
merchant, and that he had lived such a 
wild life in his early youth that his father, 
to get rid of him and his scandals, had sent 
him to sea. He had been converted from 
all his sins and follies by a clergyman in 
Hamburg, and the result of this reclama¬ 
tion was evident in his remark of the af- 


42 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


ternoon, and in his intimacy with Captain 
Berg, who worried so about Christian mis¬ 
sions ! 

“That isn’t true,” said another. “I know 
him. His name is Alfred Brandt. He is 
the son of a farmer. My brother has sailed 
the seas with him. The first year of his 
sailor life he was a happy-go-lucky fellow. 
But one evening after a visit to his moth¬ 
er’s grave, he changed. He had begun to 
think of the promises to be good that he 
had made his mother. He had attended 
church and been converted. Now he has 
passed his captain’s examination, for which 
he has studied a long time.” 

“What did you say he had promised his 
mother?” asked one of the younger boys. 

“He had promised her that he would 
read the Bible every day and say his pray¬ 
ers,” answered the teller of the tale. 

“That’s what I promised my mother, 
too,” confessed the boy. 

“Well, haven’t you fulfilled your prom¬ 
ises?” sneered another of his companions. 

“No, I’ve not thought about them much.” 

“You better begin to remember them 
then, and think about them a great deal,” 















IN PORT 


43 


snickered the teaser. “For then you may 
be able to rise to the dignity of first mate 
or even captain before very long. And if 
you die unmarried and do not know where 
to donate your savings, remember me in 
your last will and testament. Then you 
can soar in peace to another world !” 

“That would be a foolish thing to do,” 
scorned another of the group. “Wouldn’t 
he do better to will his savings to the sa¬ 
loonkeeper direct?” 

“Ah, come on,” said one of the elder 
seamen. “Let us give up this joking about 
serious matters. Whatever you may think 
of it, can’t you see that there is something 
very good in this conversion business?” 

“In the end it seems to work out best,” 
agreed the fellow whose brother had sailed 
the seas with Alfred Brandt. 

The discussion was interrupted and work 
aboard began again. The “Hilding’s” cap¬ 
tain did not wish to hear his crew argue 
during working hours. 

Captain Berg had charge of the port. 
He was an able man and God-fearing and 
righteous. Alfred Brandt had found in him 
a fatherly counsellor and friend, and in his 











44 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 

home a peaceful and hospitable haven, 
where he often came to visit when he was 
in port. The captain’s wife, a motherly, 
kindly woman, and two daughters, made 
him always welcome whether the captain 
was at home or not. 

There was music in that home. The 
girls played the organ and piano, and sang. 
The old captain fiddled quite adeptly. In 
the evenings they gathered together to 
play and sing. To Alfred this was most 
entertaining. He was himself quite mu¬ 
sical. And since his conversion he en¬ 
joyed the beautiful hymns of the church 
more than any other music. Little wonder 
that he should feel at home in the Berg 
household with its spirituality and its song. 
Bye and bye it became rumored that 
Berg’s younger daughter was much in¬ 
fatuated with him, and that in time she 
would certainly be Mrs. Brandt. But time 
passed. Alfred took his mate-examination 
and then his captain’s. Surely now the 
engagement would be announced, at least 
so the gossip had it. 

When Alfred returned from the cap¬ 
tain’s examination, and accepted the old 


IN PORT 


45 


captain’s invitation to visit with him over 
night, some of the neighbors and friends 
were asked to spend the evening at the 
Berg home in his honor. It was a happy 
evening spent in conversation, singing, 
reading and prayer. But the hours sped 
on and when time came for the company 
to disperse, nothing had happened in the 
way of announcing an engagement. Neither 
Alfred nor the little Miss Berg knew any¬ 
thing of the expectation on the part of 
their friends. Never had an endearing 
word passed between them. Strange how 
one’s friends and acquaintances know more 
of one’s private affairs than oneself! 

Indeed, Alfred Brandt was in love! But 
not with little Miss Berg. He was in love 
with her, whose eyes had gazed upon him 
that memorial time in the old churchyard 
near his childhood home. He was in love 
with her, who had deigned to turn back 
by the churchyard gate and give him the 
tenderest glance that he had ever seen. 
Alfred realized how futile this love was, 
for he had yet not met her in a more 
tangible way. He had never spoken with 
her. Why did he cherish her so in his 


w 


46 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 



thoughts? Why dream of her, as he did? 
Perhaps the idea had infected him so that 
his imagination was becoming sickened? 
But he felt strong and happy in his thought 
of her. And he had not forced it upon 
himself. It had come to him like a flash 
of lightning! He could not help it! Can 
the magnetic needle help that it must con¬ 
stantly point northward? Surely there is 
something secretly magnetic in human life, 
in human experience, that draws two souls 
toward one another with unexplainable 
power. History has proved it. The Bible 
has told it. God has led man in ways of 
which he was not aware, toward goals 
which only God could provide. 

Her image pressed itself deeper and 
deeper into the recesses of his innermost 
being. It grew, and commanded his whole 
heart. There could not possibly be room 
there for anyone else. Nor had Alfred 
ever experienced any but the noblest in¬ 
fluence from this talisman that he har¬ 
bored in his heart—this great and all-ab¬ 
sorbing love that he held for her. True, 
she had made him dream. But, too, she 
had spurred his ambition, put iron into his 












IN PORT 


47 


energies, guarded him from evil tempta¬ 
tions, and made him buoyant in the sloughs 
of despond. Indeed, it was the thought of 
her that had made him ambitious in his 
studies, mustered his ability to rise above 
the common horde of toilers to become 
worthy of her even in rank, should it ever 
be granted him to meet her again. For a 
Christian can be just as much a Christian 
in the common sailor rank, as he can in the 
captain’s stripes. Alfred’s ambition as a 
Christian would not alone have spurred 
him on to work for a captaincy. No, it 
was she who urged him on to that. 

He knew now who she was. He had 
tried to find that out in his home com¬ 
munity, and had verified his findings in a 
little seaport town in England. In the lat¬ 
ter place he had met the seaman pastor, 
who had spoken so wonderfully to his 
sympathies on that long-ago Sunday af¬ 
ternoon. What he that afternoon had sus¬ 
pected regarding the engagement of the 
pastor and the singer, he now knew to be 
true. For he had met them both, seen and 
taken part in their mission work, and even 
visited in their home, where so much kind- 













48 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


liness and love was lavished upon him that 
he felt he never could repay. Now he 
had the hope, too, of some day again see¬ 
ing her, the bride of his dreams. The ship, 
whose first mate he soon was to be, would 
sail to port not far from her. When in 
land he would look her up. He had greet- 
ings^to her from her sister and brother-in- 
law. How he longed for that opportunity! 

He recalled how he, as a little boy, in 
company with some playmates, had run to¬ 
ward the rainbow one day. It seemed to 
dip down in all the glory of its seven 
colors behind some tall trees in the heart 
of the woods nearby. The boys ran until 
they were tired. When they reached the 
spot where they had seen it dip down, it 
was not there. They looked up and be¬ 
held it shining over the treetops and it 
seemed as if it dipped down a little farther 
on. As they started for that spot the rain¬ 
bow began to pale. Then it disappeared 
altogether. What if the rainbow of his 
dreams—the gorgeous bow of hope and 
love and promise—should fade, should dis¬ 
appear, as he neared the place where he 
knew it must dip down in the realities of 
human experience? 





IV. 

In the City. 

r j HE heavy gray twilight of an autumn 
*■ evening cast its long shadows over 
the city. The street lights were beginning 
to twinkle, and the park lights blinked 
among the trees, whose naked branches 
shivered while the wind mischievously 
swept their dried leaves over the ground. 

Summer with all its glory was gone. It 
was again the time for making houses 
snug and warm against the onslaughts of 
winter storms. 

But on the streets of the city people 
hurried to and fro as they always were 
wont to do. The trolley cars were filled 
with commuters. Those who labored in 
shops and factories had just finished their 
day’s toll and were homeward bound. Here 
and there in the cars white-collared toilers 
mingled with hand laborers, but the crowd 
that now hustled for home was largely 
made up of those who must lift the heavi¬ 
est burdens and sustain the dirtiest hands 
in the routine of industry. 

40 




50 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 

Among such a crowd rode a young wife 
and her little two-year old daughter. The 
child was dressed in white from head to 
foot and attracted much admiration as she 
knelt on the car seat beside her mother. 
She turned the soles of her little well- 
shod feet toward the passengers and 
pressed her chubby face close to the win¬ 
dow, for she was bent on watching the 
world outside. At one of the street inter¬ 
sections, where the trolley had stopped to 
discharge and take on passengers, a group 
of rough-looking workmen had gotten 
aboard. They looked to be bricklayers by 
trade, for their clothing was spattered 
with plaster. Most of them remained 
standing on the trolley platform, for the 
car was already filled to capacity. But one 
big burly fellow, with black whiskers, sharp 
eyes in which gleamed a bit of humor and 
a bigger bit of resentful spirit, and of age 
about fifty, edged his way into the car, 
reached out with his big grimy hands and 
took the little golden-locked, white-clad 
girl, first in his arms and then on his lap, 
as he planted himself in the place the child 
had occupied. “You don’t mind sitting in 


IN THE CITY 


51 


an old daddy’s lap, do you?” he said 
laughingly, and added: “Then you won’t 
take up the seat that rightly belongs to a 
poor, tired workingman!” It all happened 
so quickly! The little girl did not seem to 
take offense. She seemed eager enough 
to begin an inspection of this strange “old 
daddy” and pull his black whiskers, but her 
mother, quick as a tiger, forestalled any 
such friendliness. She snatched the child 
from the man’s lap, and hissed angrily: 
“Be so kind as to let the child keep her 
place. I have paid ten cents for it!” Evi¬ 
dently the woman had no sense of humor! 
The man arose, took the child from her 
mother’s embrace, and placed her back on 
the seat. Giving the mother a rather bit¬ 
ter look, he said: “When folks like you 
want 'your rights,’ you seem wide enough 
awake, but when you need to look to your 
duties, you sleep! Can’t you see that the 
child soils the clothes of the other pas¬ 
sengers, who must wriggle past her, as 
she kneels on the seat with her dirty shoe 
soles turned out?” Then he swept the en¬ 
tire car interior with a look of disgust, 
and sighed: “Well, well, well, what does 


52 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


it matter if a poor tired workingman 
stands on his feet all night ?” 

“No more room inside!” shouted the 
conductor as the car stopped at the next 
street crossing. 

“That’s always the way, when poor 
working folks are homeward bound,” said 
a voice among the passenger crowd, and 
the black whiskered bricklayer smiled and 
nodded his agreement. 

At that moment a well dressed seaman 
rose and offered the black whiskered 
growler his seat. 

“Oh no, thank you,” said the bricklayer, 
“I guess you’ve paid your ten cents, too?” 

“That I have,” answered the seaman, 
“and I have also toiled a full day, but, I 
believe my legs are stronger than yours.” 

The elder man doffed his hat and took 
the proffered seat. He opened his snuff 
box, took a pinch out of it, and became 
quite talkative for the rest of his ride. 
“It’ll come to it! It’ll come to it, that the 
working man will have to take charge of 
affairs both here and there in the com¬ 
munity. Then we will ride home sitting 
every night, and the white collared snobs 



IN THE CITY 


53 


can stand for a change. Won’t that be 
fine, my little lady?”he said with ironical 
snear, turning to the woman who a mo¬ 
ment before had tried to humble him. The 
woman blushed angrily. At the next stop 
she picked up her little daughter and hust¬ 
led off the car, giving the talkative brick¬ 
layer a glance that was ominous as a snake 
bite as she fled past him. 

“Little but sharp, isn’t she?” he shouted 
so that all in the car could hear him. “In 
the days of the horse car,” he continued 
to brawl, “they had to stop and start wher¬ 
ever the likes of her wished to get on or 
alight, and the poor beasts had to jerk and 
back and tear in their shackles. Now, at 
least, there are regular stopping places. 
Well, in those days—in the horse car days, 
I rode once. The conductor rang his bell 
to stop. The car stopped and remained 
still for some time. Everybody wondered 
who they were waiting for. Bye and bye 
a huge dromedary—a top-classer—stag¬ 
gered in. The whole car shook as he 
planted his flesh-magazine on the step, and 
trembled pitifully as he seated himself in¬ 
side. He puffed and wheezed so that the 



54 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


hair stood on end on the heads of the rest 
of us. Beside him sat a little tailor, who 
was crowded almost to the point of going 
breathless. He became angry. Besides, he 
was in a hurry to get home. “Here ought 
to be charged fare by weight/’ he groaned. 

“The dromedary calmly pulled his spec¬ 
tacle from their mooring inside his coat, 
placed them aristocratically on his nose, 
and sent a dagger-like side glance down at 
the huddled tailor. ‘Then you would need 
pity,’ he sneared, ‘For it would hardly pay 
to stop the car for such a lightweight as 
you’!” 

The bricklayer had actually amused most 
of his fellow passengers by that story. 
He himself betrayed no amusement, how¬ 
ever, but eyed his audience sarcastically to 
see how the tale had appealed. 

The well-dressed seaman, who had tend¬ 
ered him his seat, was apparently ap¬ 
proaching his getting-off place. He moved 
toward the door of the car. As he did so 
he gazed back at the bricklayer, half earn¬ 
estly, half jestingly, and said: “If you are 
just as dilligent at your work as you are 
in your speech, you are certainly an ex- 



IN THE CITY 


55 


ceptional workman!” The babbler lost his 
gift of speech for a moment and stared a 
bit embarrassed after the departing fellow 
passenger. 

“There you, Bennick! That seaman 
called your bluff, didn’t he?” laughed one 
of his companions, inferring that the re¬ 
mark had hit well at the bluster of an 
underrate toiler. The car stopped. The 
well-dressed seaman alighted. As he did 
so he became aware of a young woman 
who was just about to board the car. His 
pulse quickened. He seemed to recognize 
her. She, too, became nonplussed, when 
she beheld him, and almost let the car start 
off without her. 

“I believe it was she!” thought he. 

“I’m sure it was he!” thought she. 

He was Alfred Brandt. She was Fanny 
Landers. Eight to nine years had passed 
since they first met at the gate of the 
country churchyard near his boyhood 
home. She was now a teacher in a school 
in the big city. He was first mate on 
board the steamer “Norden”. She was 
perhaps a little plumper in figure and 
face, but otherwise so like that beautiful 



56 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


angel in black—as he remembered her in 
that time gone by. He, too, looked mat¬ 
ures He had grown a mustache, and he 
carried himself with greater manliness. 
His hair had grown darker. But the eyes! 
Her eyes and his eyes! There is some¬ 
thing very mysterious about eyes! They 
change little or not at all. And it is they, 
these mirrors of the soul, that give the 
face its deepest and most lasting charac¬ 
teristics. Yes, he felt certain that they 
were the same eyes, that it was the same 
glance, as in the bygone time by the cem¬ 
etery gate. 

No wonder that Alfred Brandt stood 
motionless a long while and stared after 
the trolley car. She had so long lived in 
his thoughts and ruled his ambitions, that 
she was one with him in every noble ut¬ 
terance of his life. And now he had been 
so nearly within reach of her—and there 
she sped away aboard a trolley car! 

Nor less the wonder that Fanny Landers 
remained standing on the car platform, 
peering back into the darkness, her heart 
beating very quickly, her cheeks burning 
with blushes. Often had she thought of 



IN THE CITY 


57 


the youth who in that long ago had opened 
the cemetery gate for her and her sister 
and mother, and whom she had subse¬ 
quently seen in the churchyard the fol¬ 
lowing Sunday morning, and again at the 
meeting the same day in the little mis¬ 
sion house. His eyes had told her an in¬ 
audible story. They had awakened in her 
strange feelings and queer dreams. Al¬ 
though her life had been full of duties and 
worthwhile things, she had never been 
able to entirely set aside the memories of 
these feelings, these dreams. She wond¬ 
ered why this was. She did not know 
him. Perhaps they had nothing in com¬ 
mon. But it is with the things of the 
inner life, of the spirit, as it is in nature. 
A seed can be carried by the wind from 
afar. No one notices it. It falls in some 
hidden place and is covered up. But it 
has potential life in its heart. It begins to 
penetrate to the surface, it sprouts and 
grows, and in the years to come it mani¬ 
fests itself a beautiful tree, that in time 
is strong enough to cope with the very 
wind that planted it, and to give out of 


58 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


beauty and shelter to all who will be¬ 
hold it. 

Fanny Landers was comely. And she 
was rich. Surely she had had her share 
of wooers. But no one had ever touched 
her woman’s heart with a sympathy such 
as that which she divined in the glance of 
him by the cemetery gate. When she 
thought of it, it almost frightened her. 
As she wandered back in memory to that 
peculiar incident, she felt as if something 
had arisen from her father’s grave and 
strung a delicate thread between her fate 
and the youth’s. Surely it could only have 
been her supersensitive imagination! True, 
she had read somewhere about the migra¬ 
tion of souls, reincarnation, and other such 
Hindoo and theosophic mystics. Perhaps 
all this had played unduly upon her fan¬ 
tasy. She could, however, not allow her¬ 
self to believe them. Her thoughts refused 
to harbor anything so chaotic and weird. 

Perhaps the main reason for not being 
able to dismiss him from her thoughts was 
a dream that she had had the night be¬ 
fore her first meeting with him. She had 
fallen alseep that evening thinking of her 


IN THE CITY 


59 


departed father. In her thoughts of him 
she had wondered, too, about her own 
future, and she had prayed God to lead 
her through life, so that His will would 
rule at every turn of events and in all her 
undertakings. Fallen asleep she dreamt 
that she was in the woods picking her 
father’s favorite flowers—the lily of the 
valley. She wanted to place these on his 
grave. He had often told her, when he 
lived, that his love for the lily had come 
to him as an inheritance from his mother. 
He could make her so happy by bringing 
her a handful of lily of the valley from 
the woodlands and marshlands, where they 
bloomed in spring and early summer, some 
years in greater profusion than others. 
And every time in his manhood life that 
someone brought him lily of the valley, 
it gave him a review of his boyhood days 
and enthused his soul as nothing else. 
Now she, his daughter, who had loved 
him so and tried to make him happy, 
wanted to deck his final resting place with 
the flowers he had loved so well. The 
fields were beautiful, the woods so green 
and fresh. As she hastened toward the 




60 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


dell, where she knew the lily grew luxuri¬ 
ously, she seemed to meet a number of 
her father’s childhood friends—many of 
those he had spoken to her about. And 
they were all anxious to show her to the 
place where the lilies were most numerous. 
They covered the ground like soft white 
snow, she thought, as she plucked and 
plucked and plucked. But on her way to 
the grave with the flowers she met her 
father! He led by the hand a young man 
whom she never before had seen. She 
handed her father the flowers. He gra¬ 
ciously accepted the bouquet, but parted 
it, and gave half to the youth who was 
with him. And as he did so he said: “Now 
children, betake yourself to church!” Just 
then Fanny awoke. 

“A strange dream!” she thought. No 
wonder she stopped and gazed, wide-eyed, 
by the cemetery gate, when she beheld 
in flesh-and-blood, the youth she had seen 
by her father’s side in the dream! How¬ 
ever, she had pledged herself not to tell 
anyone about the dream until she was 
sure there might be a meaning to it. Her 
father had often dreamed dreams that 




















IN THE CITY 


61 


came true. He believed that God some¬ 
time revealed His will in that way. 

And now, this late fall evening on the 
trolley car platform, Fanny Landers re¬ 
traced in memory the dream and all that 
had subsequently taken place to point to¬ 
ward an interpretation of it. How strange 
that they now merely should have gotten 
a glimpse of one another! But it had 
been sufficient for her to be certain that 
it was he! She never, never could mis¬ 
take or evade his glance! What could he 
be doing in the city? 

Whatever she hitherto had thought con¬ 
cerning any possibility of a fate linked 
close to his, she now began to think seri¬ 
ously about it. When she met him the 
first time, she realized that he was not a 
man of culture and refinement. And she 
felt compelled to think that she must have 
been mistaken as to his identity with the 
youth of the dream. And yet, there had 
been times, too, when she had recalled 
that her own father was of humble birth 
and in early life had lacked the advantages 
of culture. He had worked his way ahead 
and gained all these blessings with years 





62 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


of honest effort, and in time become one 
of the most intelligent and able business 
men in the country. Nor had he ever been 
disappointing in his social life. But now 
—after this evening’s glimpse of him —the 
youth of the dream—how well she could 
see that he had risen above his early status 
in life, had made good in the struggle for 
better things. 


•. _ £• _ ._ 









V. 


Letters and Poems. 

R OW mysterious is human life! And 
the human heart! And the little 
world of the individual, where often there 
is an echo from the vast unknown, weird¬ 
ly, sadly moaning, like the murmur in a 
seashell! For every human being carries 
within—in the depths of himself—a mi¬ 
niature world, a wonderful world of never 
ceasing thought, ever vibrant feeling, en¬ 
meshed by temptations, haunted by fore¬ 
bodings, illumined by hopes, that can never 
be known entirely by any other human 
being. Some folks find it easy to confide 
in other, to tell, to reveal. They are like 
crystal bottles, through which one readily 
can discern the color of the contents. 
Every shade of thought can be detected. 
Others are like bottles of opaque glass. 
One cannot behold on the outside what 
the contents be like. These folks go about 
their business, well knowing their own 
aims, but keeping them secret from the 
rest of the world. Yet, even the most 

63 


64 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


open-hearted and tell-tale humans at times 
have their mysteries, their secrets, that 
only they themselves can know and un¬ 
derstand. 

As there is always motion in the atmos¬ 
phere, surrounding us in the natural world, 
that cloud and sunshine, shadow and light, 
may interchange, so there exists for the 
human spirit something movable and 
changing, a kind of shifting panorama, 
never resting in its course, not even when 
man sleeps. In sleep it takes domain with¬ 
in the dream, and many times the dream 
touches the deepest secrets and reveals 
them again in memory to the waking soul. 

Fanny Landers certainly did not wish 
anyone to look into her innermost 
thoughts, as she walked homeward from 
the trolley line, that autumn evening in 
the big city. Her emotions rose and fell 
like the mercury in a thermometer, vari¬ 
ously and hastily exposed to draughts of 
heat and cold. Her thoughts moved ra¬ 
pidly and irrelevantly. And all because 
of that sudden meeting with him! She 
had been nearly tempted to ride back 
again in the direction of the point where 


ass 






LETTERS AND POEMS 


65 


she had boarded the car. But she man¬ 
aged to remember that her mother, who 
was not very well, would wait and wonder 
if she delayed. 

She and her mother lived in a cozy 
apartment in the extreme eastern part of 
the town. They had one servant, who 
had been with the family for twenty years 
or more. As Fanny neared home the lamps 
in the apartment glowed invitingly through 
the window. And when she crossed the 
threshold, how warm and hospitable and 
home-like everything seemed, with the 
winter rugs all laid and the curtains hung. 

“I'm glad you are home, Fanny,” greeted 
her mother. “Wish you could have come 
earlier. We have had a caller this even¬ 
ing, a young sea-faring man, who brought 
greetings from Elizabeth and Stanley. He 
waited quite a while for you. But he had 
to leave before you came.” 

“A young sea-farer, did you say? How 
did he look!” 

Fanny’s mother described him. 

Fanny blushed a bit, for she recognized 
him immediately. 

“Indeed it was a pity Miss Fanny was 














66 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


not at home!” added the old servant, who 
was as one of the family, and always ex¬ 
pressed herself freely in matters of im¬ 
portance. She had a keen eye, too, and 
saw back of things, and detected motives, 
and drew her own conclusions! 

“Why, Anna, what makes you say so?” 
asked Fanny laughingly. 

“Because he was just such a person as 
Miss Fanny would like!” 

“How can you be so sure of that, An¬ 
na?” 

“I can’t be sure, of course, but I think 
you would.” 

“Well, I asked him to, in fact, invited 
him to come again tomorrow evening 
about this time. He said that that would 
delight him, and expressed the hope that 
his duties would allow him the time off 
for the visit,” replied Fanny’s mother. 

“It was so interesting,” she continued, 
“to hear him speak of the seamen’s mis¬ 
sion work in England. And how he did 
praise Stanley and Elizabeth! It made 
me rejoice to hear him say such fascinat¬ 
ing things about them- Evidently, he 
knows them well, has been in their home 


LETTERS AND POEMS 


67 


at times, and is familiar with their work 
at the mission. And he is a Christian, too! 
Indeed, Fanny, it was a distinct loss to 
you that you did not reach home earlier! 
And there, on your writing table, is a let¬ 
ter for you from Stanley. I’ve been very 
curious to open it. Perhaps it tells some¬ 
thing about the visitor we’ve had? But, 
of course, I never open your letters!” 

Fanny glanced at the writing table. She 
crossed the room hurriedly, picked up the 
letter, and scanned the handwriting on the 
envelope. Yes, it was Stanley’s handwrit¬ 
ing. She could distinguish his writing 
among thousands. It was distinctly char¬ 
acteristic of him. 

She ripped open the envelope and was 
soon deeply engrossed in the contents. 

“Can’t you read aloud?” asked her 
mother. 

Fanny’s heart beat rapidly. Somehow 
she could hardly risk her voice to reply 
for fear it might betray her emotions. 
She excused herself as best she could. 
Privately she read: 









68 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


Dear Sister. 



I must send you a little note of thanks, 
very hearty thanks, for your recent let¬ 
ter and for the gifts to our boys. I be¬ 
lieve Elizabeth has recently written you 
about our pre-Christmas entertainment for 
some of them, and the distribution of the 
gifts. So you will forgive me if I do not 
go into detail about it, knowing, too, how 
very busy I am. 

You are wonderfully good, Fanny, to 
think of us and our sea-faring boys. They 
were so pleased to receive the gifts you 
sent- Many of them will spend their 
Christmas at sea. The woollen stockings 
were especially welcome. It gave them 
a double thrill of joy to know that loving 
hands in their homeland had knit them. 
And the books in their native language! 
How they do enjoy them! I saw many a 
tear in their eyes as they accepted the gifts. 
Who can tell what memories of home and 
mother, of the Christmas anticipations of 
their childhood days, and many other ten¬ 
der recollections, these gifts helped to 
bring to mind? 



























LETTERS AND POEMS 69 


Home ties are not easily broken nor 
forgotten. How well for us humans that 
it is so! In that tender rift of the soul 
we have a beautiful point of contact for 
our Christmas endeavor. Our mission work 
among the seamen, like all labor of up¬ 
lift among mankind, has its difficulties 
and its discouragements. We need these 
times of tender touches to help us reach 
the hearts of our boys. Much happens 
in our work that strains our patience and 
our faith and love. 

Isn’t it strange how man is prone to 
sink down, to fall? Is it the gravity of 
depraved human nature that pulls down¬ 
ward? The man who wants to turn away 
from evil and become good, must rise and 
climb with much effort and by constant 
struggle, if he would not again be downed. 
Bad habits pull at him. And many weeds 
keep springing up, in his soul and without 
it, to ensnare his struggling steps and 
hold him down. What faith it takes, Fan¬ 
ny, to keep on helping, to keep on in¬ 
spiring ! 

Lest you suspect that I am growing 
hopelessly pessimistic, let me hasten to 






















70 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


tell you that we have also had much joy 
in our work. Recently we have been 
gladdened and greatly encouraged by as¬ 
sociation with a young poet! He is a cap¬ 
tain, shipping as first mate aboard a large 
steamer, that has put into this port on 
several trips. Elizabeth claims that you 
know him—in a way. You met him, years 
ago, one evening shortly after your fa¬ 
ther’s death. You met him in the church¬ 
yard, I believe, and later saw him in the 
mission house at a seamen’s service. Eli¬ 
zabeth teasingly says that you became 
very much infatuated with him, although 
you have never exchanged a word with 
him. She says you have often spoken of 
him since- Well, be that as it may, I 
shall refrain from teasing you about fal¬ 
ling in love with utter strangers! But I 
do wish to tell you something about him! 
He is very much in love with you! He 
can hardly think of anything else! He 
dreams and yearns incessantly for you, 
his unknown angel! And I believe that he 
suffers in his love. Because I want you 
to realize how much he thinks of you, I 
am enclosing in this letter a bit of evidence 










LETTERS AND POEMS 


71 


in his own handwriting. He is the author 
of the verses, and you are the inspirer. 
He does not know that I am sending them 
to you. Indeed, I do not believe that he 
knows I have them. 

It has come about in this way: He 
wrote a number of little poems of Chris¬ 
tian content, some of which I deem have 
real poetic value. He left them with me 
when he went to sea recently, asking me 
to read them over more carefully and cri¬ 
ticise them for him. When he returns he 
will want to know my verdict! This I 
was delighted to promise him. Among 
the poem I found these that I am enclos¬ 
ing with my letter to you. They had 
certainly slipped in among the others with¬ 
out his knowledge and intention, for he 
is very sensitive about his innermost 
thoughts. Daringly, I am exposing them 
to you! They give you a better glimpse 
of his heart’s desire than I could write 
you. That you are the heroine of his 
songs, I am convinced. For he has visited 
us often and talked so generously and 
beautifully about his past life. He dates 
his conversation to a living faith in Jesus 



72 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


Christ from that evening when he beheld 
you for the first time by the cemetery 
gate. His happiness was bound up in your 
eyes! He has never for a moment doubted 
the power of regeneration that gleamed 
to him in the tenderness of your eyes. 
Perhaps Elizabeth has already told you 
this? Elizabeth is very found of him! 
She would be delighted to have him for a 
brother! I have investigated him a bit. 
His superiors and his companions on the 
steamer speak of him in glowing terms of 
commendation. Everyone likes him for 
his staunch Christian character and his 
charm of personality. 

And I must tell you one more incident 
concerning his affection for you. One af¬ 
ternoon, on a recent visit in our port, I 
suddenly came upon him as he sat beside 
Elizabeth’s writing table in the mission 
reading room. He sat there holding in 
his hand that very fine photograph of you 
that Elizabeth adorns her table with. And 
tears were streaming down his cheeks. 
Need I tell you that I made my exit from 
the reading room as hastily and unnotice- 





















LETTERS AND POEMS 


73 


able as possible, leaving him undisturbed 
at his worship? 

While I do not think he has had the 
advantage of much schooling, he is well 
read. He uses correct language and speaks 
fluently on many topics. His appearance 
is always that of a cultured gentleman. 
Best of all, he is a Christian gentleman. 
His frank and kindly face bespeak all this. 
He has remarkably fine eyes! 

I agree with Elizabeth. I wouldn’t mind 
a bit if you -could manage to love him! 
Then some day he may become my broth¬ 
er-in-law ! 

Now, Fanny dear, please do not con¬ 
sider this a match-maker’s business letter! 
It is not intended in any such meaning. 
God’s will be done in everything. 

Many hearty greetings accompany this 
letter to you and mother from Elizabeth, 
who always makes me the happiest man on 
earth and helps me untiringly in the work, 
and from me, your affectionate brother, 

Stanley. 

P. S. Please return the poems to me 
promptly. This little escapade must re¬ 
main a secret between you and me! I 














74 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


sent you the originals so that you also 
might appraise his handwriting. Please 
do not delay in returning the manuscript! 

You may soon have the pleasure of 
meeting the author. He has sailed for your 
port, and has promised us to call on you 
and your mother, to give you our greet¬ 
ings in person. S. 

* * * 

Fanny could not describe the feelings 
that surged in her soul as she read her 
brother-in-law’s letter. Her curiosity con¬ 
cerning the poems and the poet knew no 
bounds. Was it because she was more 
deeply interested in him than in any other 
human being? Or was is because of that 
natural and cherished weakness common 
to mankind—the eagerness for sympa¬ 
thy from others, especially that sympathy 
which expresses iself in praise of us? Fan¬ 
ny Landers, too, was always conscious of 
that dream she had shortly after her dear 
father’s demise, and of the strange coinci¬ 
dent in which this man appeared upon the 
horizon of the real. 

How odd love is! How timid and shy, 
almost afraid of the light, as it begins to 


LETTERS AND POEMS 75 

unite two hearts! It is a safe wager that 
friendship has turned into love-lane, when 
one observes two souls, who had formerly 
been able to associate with frankness and 
freedom and unconcern, begin to be shy 
and uneasy in their attitude toward one 
another as they mingle with the crowd. 

Fanny was not young. She had passed 
the first youthfulness. And she knew life’s 
earnestness and the need and power of 
love in human relations. But it could be 
said of her that she had never abused the 
grand passion. Never had she flirted, or 
jilted, or treated lightly and jestingly the 
most beautiful of all life’s gifts. For no 
other man had she felt the depth and beau¬ 
ty of emotion that she had for the un¬ 
known seaman. That her love for him was 
spiritual, could not be denied. Fanny felt 
that her sympathy for him had risen in the 
memories she had of her dear father, and 
rested in the fact that her father convinc¬ 
ingly had impressed upon her the necessity 
and privilege of letting GOD lead in every 
event of life. In the days immediately fol¬ 
lowing her father’s death, Fanny’s super¬ 
sensitive soul had been like a wide open 




76 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


camera, continually snapping impressions. 
The young seaman came in her path in 
that psychological moment, and his image 
fastened itself indelibly on the retina of 
her innermost life. No matter how filled 
her life later became with other interests, 
interests that steadied and matured her, he 
remained. And around him she wove a 
framework of beautiful dreams, like gar¬ 
lands of perennial flowers. 

Many are the human hearts that need to 
shape their ideals in concrete pictures in 
order to aspire and be happy. They must 
know their ideal incarnate in order to 
fathom life and love. Often the ideal is 
personified only in their imagination, and 
becomes in their minds a perfect saint, so 
worthy their deepest adoration that they 
find it difficult to love the folks they meet 
in real life. The “Unknown God” had its 
unimpeachable charm in the thoughts of 
the Athenians. And there are like “gods” 
in the thoughts of most lovers! 

“Stanley and Elizabeth send you their 
fond greetings,” said Fanny, looking up 
at her mother. “They are working hard, as 
usual, but are very happy and hopeful in 





















LETTERS AND POEMS 


77 


their toil. They also mention this sea- 
captain. Stanley seems to be very fond of 
him, and because he admires him has asked 
him to call on us when he comes to our 
city.” As she spoke, Fanny tucked the let¬ 
ter into the folds of her blouse. 

“Thanks, Fanny dear,” said her mother. 
“Was that all the letter said? Seems to 
me it was a very thick missive! Have you 
really had time to read it through al¬ 
ready?” 

“Not all of it,” said Fanny blushingly. 
“That is—I have read the letter, but there 
are some poems enclosed with it that I 
have not yet perused.” 

“Some of Stanley’s creations?” 

“You’re getting a bit curious, aren’t you 
mother?” 

“Oh no, Fanny, but I believe you are be¬ 
coming secretive!” 

“I don’t mean to be, mother dear,” 
laughed Fanny, blushing so profusely that 
her mother could not help noticing it. 
“But I want to read them through at my 
leisure, and then I shall let you share 
them.” 















78 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


At that moment Anna announced that 
tea was served. After tea and the cus¬ 
tomary prayertime and Scripture reading, 
Fanny’s mother bade her and old Anna 
good-night. She was tired, she said, and 
wished to retire early. 

Fanny did not delay long in seeking the 
haven of her own room. She was unusu¬ 
ally cautious to close her door, and even 
turned the key in the lock. She lost no 
time in pulling the papers from their hid¬ 
ing place in her blouse. With an affec¬ 
tionate pat she smoothed out the sheets, 
containing the verses. How manly and 
elegant his handwriting! The top sheet 
revealed a long composition entitled: “My 
Star.” Fanny began to read: 

“Night hangs her veil in somber folds low o’er the 
restless deep, 

And thru its haze-wov’n meshes little blinking 
star-eyes peep, 

While sailcraft, birdlike, glide and plash, then heave 
and sigh and moan, 

As sailors peer at distant lights, and dream fond 
dreams of home. 



LETTERS AND POEMS 79 

Swift rush the waves aquarr’ling against my trusty 
bark, 

That steams to sea arocking in the wind on bil¬ 
lows dark! 

And on her spacious deck I pace, my soul locked in 
strange dreams— 

Wild dreams, that like the restless deep, no peace 
can find, it seems. 

I dream a Star is beckoning me, enticing me away! 

My thoughts tear lose, wing up, and soar to find 
her, and to say: 

Deep in my heart, a sacred place, a talisman I 
keep, 

A vision fair, an image pure, at which none else 
may peep! 

But three the times I’ve seen your face in all 
the years I’ve spent! 

Yet, untold happiness and joy you to my life 
have meant! 

And so each day I humbly pray: ‘Dear God, in 
heav’n above, 

Grant me another time of bliss when I may see 
my—Love! ’ 

How dare I dream that you’d be mine, if you to 
wed were free? 

Bold are such thoughts that haunt and bless and 
buttress against me! 

Yet, speed the day when I may turn from sailing 
seas to shore, 

To plead with you, and make you mine for time 
and ever more! 


80 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


But what if you already, dear, should be another’s 
bride? 

How could I bear to hear it, and such cruel fate 
abide ? 

For then the joy of sailing seas forever would be 
o’er, 

And life for me grow cold and gray and starless 
ever more! 

I know I dream too boldly, forgetting humble birth, 

My heritage’s plebeian—of the lowly of the earth. 

And he who’d win you, must he be rich and cul¬ 
tured and renowned? 

And surely, too, great virtues in him must needs 
abound. 

Ah, as I probe and test myself, I feel how short I 
fall 

In worthiness. But then, ah me, why think of 
you at all? 

Why beats my heart so enviously of him who’d 
venture free? 

Why dare I even dream that you shall deign to 
think of me? 

There comes a thought, consoling, sweet, that God 
Himself stepped low— 

To earth He came to share our woes, our hopes 
and fears to know. 

Perhaps you have His Spirit meek? And Christ- 
like heart to feel 

How true my love for you and deep; and kindly 
with me deal? 



























LETTERS AND POEMS 


81 


That thought both makes me glad and good. It 
fortifies my soul! 

It helps me build my castles fair, and hopeful of 
my goal, 

As sailing o’er the deep, blue sea, I plan and work 
and pray, 

And feel God’s providence and love embrace me 
on my way. 

Farewell, my Star, my watch is o’er, dawn smiles 
in eastern skies; 

The lanterns of the night burn out, the mists be¬ 
gin to rise. 

But in my heart undying lights its vigils never 
cease, 

For you, my Star, the keeper are of all my hope 
and peace’!” 

* * * 

Many a maiden’s heart has pitter-pat¬ 
tered at less melodious serenades. For 
there is something strangely exhilerating 
about being the object of homage and 
song! To Fanny Landers came tears. How 
romantic he was! How deeply he must 
have felt the emotion he had written! 
Again that long-ago dream came to Fan¬ 
ny’s mind. Perhaps, after all, this seaman 
was the one God wished her to join fate 
with? 









82 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


Perhaps, were she to read on—read the 
other two poems—the beautiful impression 
of this one that she just had read might 
fade, might tarnish. Indeed, Fanny began 
to wish that the envelope had contained 
only that poem,—no letter, nothing more. 
But her woman’s curiosity persisted! Care¬ 
fully she spread out before her the second 
paper. It bore the title: “I’m Longing.” 

“A longing intense grips my soul this dark night, 
Strange thoughts stir and strive in my breast! 
Like shadows they creep, and challenge the light, 
Like billows they roll and struggle, and smite, 
Nor grant me contentment nor rest! 


A while since, the sunset with glory did light 
In hues iridescent the cloud, 

And kiss the blue seacrests a silent good-night, 
And smile on the wind to ease in its flight, 

Nor whistle its evening song loud! 


Then came the long shadows, and oh, how they 
grew, 

And coaxed up a mist from the deep, 

That hemmed in our bark and eclipsed from our 
view 

All else on the sea, as around us it drew 
A magical vestment of sleep. 










LETTERS AND POEMS 


83 


But on the ship’s deck my vigil I keep, 

And scan the wide skies for a star! 

As I peer thru the haze, weird dreams come and 
sweep, 

Encircling my soul, and make me sigh deep, 
And spirit me off, away far! 

They take me adventuring! ‘Ah, where is my 
Star? 

Why am I sighing, why should I long? 

Why the illusions that beckon me far? 

Why not be content with things as they are? 

With the sea and the mariner’s son?’ 

Our Father in heaven, to Thee my soul turns, 

Oh grant that my wild dreams may cease! 

For the peace, Thou wouldst give, my restless 
life yearns, 

For the joys, Thou canst grant, my longing heart 
burns, 

Oh give me contentment and peace!” 


This song did rob Fanny of some of 
that deep feeling that had gripped her as 
she read the first poem. This was so 
melancholy, she thought, and breathed 
in the end a sigh of resignation to what 
he seemed to regard as an inevitable fate 
—that he must somehow free himself of 



























84 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


the desire to win her. It impressed her 
like snow on a rose. But then, woman 
often feels so intensily about things that 
she fails to think through a situation and 
reach out for reasons. Had he not, in 
the poem she read first, expressed his 
fears concerning her demands upon his 
worthiness in the scales of birth and cul¬ 
ture? Perhaps there lay the reason for his 
prayer in this song—that he might have 
contentment and peace, power to find hap¬ 
piness in his own sphere, at his work, and 
among his own kind. 

Fanny felt that she simply must read 
also the third bit of verse. It was called: 
“An Evening Song.” 

“Lord, who dwelleth in the heavens, 

Whither songs of glory rise— 

Like the swelling tides of oceans, 

Waves of sound that cleave the skies,— 

Wilt Thou listen to my singing, 

Humbly from my soul’s depth winging, 
Seeking Thee, All-Good and Wise? 

Lonely o’er the seas I’m faring, 

Where I hear no church bells ring, 

Nor Thy children’s voices bringing 
Praises to Thee as they sing. 









LETTERS AND POEMS 85 


Yet, Thy stars above me glory, 

Tell me Thy love’s blessed story, 
And Thy peace unto me bring! 

May I in these hours of evening, 

Feel Thy guiding Spirit near. 

For I need Thee in the gloaming, 

As thru shadows I must steer,— 

Need to feel myself abiding, 

In Thy care securely hiding 
From all dangers and all fear. 

Since the day I gave my promise, 
Thine to be with all my life, 

I have felt the deep, deep yearning— 
Ever present, ever rife— 

For Thy loving, patient leading, 

Felt the need Thy voice of heeding, 
’Mid the world’s loud din and strife. 

Yet, my thought have oft been truant, 
Drifting uncontrolled about. 

And my heart’s been discontended, 
And my faith not always stout! 

In the midst of all Thy grace, Lord, 
In the sunlight of Thy ways, Lord, 
Yet I dream and sigh and doubt! 


There’s a human heart that draws me, 
Beckon me from far away. 


Wilt Thou lead me, Lord, and help me, 
Lest I lose the course and stray? 






























86 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


For that shoreline knows no ending, 

Where Elysian lights are blending,- 
Like a mirage on love’s way! 

Shall I bless the day I met her— 

Was made prisoner by her eye? 

For that day my soul awakened, 

And to Thee, my Lord, drew nigh. 

Fair the gaze was, sweet and kindly, 

Made me hope, and cherish blindly 
Right to love her till I die! 

As the compass points to northward, 

As the flower seeks the sun, 

So by nature turns my longing 
To her heart, my cherished one. 

Shall on earth again I meet her? 

Dare with love’s glad troth to greet her? 

Or must we wait till heaven is won? 

Lord, which way Thy hand shall lead me, 

May Thy will in all I see? 

’Twas Thy grace and Thy ■ salvation 
That thru her did speak to me, 

Lay within the glance she gave me, 

’Roused my soul in love, to save me. 

Keep me, Lord, e’er close to Thee!” 

* * * 

Never had Fanny read poetry with such 
mingled feelings of ecstasy and sadness 
as she experienced in reading these verses 






















LETTERS AND POEMS 


87 


by him. And that she was the inspirer, 
was hardly fathomable. Not only did the 
songs breathe in praise of her, in long¬ 
ing for her love, but they also praised the 
heavenly Father, the Creator of human 
longing and the satisfaction as well. Wom¬ 
anlike, she felt flattered that poetry should 
have been born in her honor. But this 
poet seemed to live solely by the thought 
of her! How humble he was, too! So 
unlike the modern man of the world, who 
seems to think that every woman admires 
him and is ready to worship him at beck 
and call! 

Fanny felt almost adventuresome, as she 
retired to rest that night. It was a novel 
experience—this revelation from the un¬ 
known. She felt somewhat as Columbus 
must have felt when he spied land in a 
new world! She knew that something 
new, something wonderful, was about to 
happen in her own little world. Although 
she was looking into the future without 
any tangible reason to believe that the 
man, who so ardently had sung to her in 
poetry, would ever come to propose mar¬ 
riage to her, she could not help wonder- 



88 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


ing what her mother would do if she did 
marry! For she could never bear to leave 
her mother. But, of course, if she were 
to marry a seaman, it would work no odds 
to have her mother live with her! And 
old Anna! Her thoughts became enthusi¬ 
astic about it all. She began to wonder 
where they would live, when the wedding 
would take place, and many other such 
happy details of a romance like hers! 

Then she laughed out loud! “How silly 
of me/’ she thought. “He has not pro¬ 
posed. I have not even met him yet! 
When he sees me again, his love may 
chill! Maybe I could not love him. Dreams, 
letter, poems, are one thing: reality may 
be very different.” 

There are many causes for insomnia! 
The active conscious mind is not easily 
overpowered by the subconscious, even 
though the body is yawning for sleep. 
Such was Fanny’s experience this night. 
She could not sleep. After tossing rest¬ 
lessly awhile on her bed, she arose, lit a 
light, and took her Bible from the table. 
As she did so she prayed a little silent 
prayer, asking God to lead her vision to a 



























LETTERS AND POEMS 


89 


verse of counsel in His Word. She opened 
the Bible and her gaze fell immediately 
upon a verse in the Thirty-second Psalm. 
It was a passage that she had underscored 
many years ago: “I will instruct thee and 
teach thee in the way which thou shalt 
go: I will counsel thee with mine eye 
upon thee.” It was the memory verse 
that her dear father had given her on her 
confirmation day. He had repeated it, 
too, as he talked with her during his last 
illness—talked with her about his going 
away to the better land, and she had wept 
so bitterly and would not be comforted. 
How like her father to give her a memory 
verse like that! He had asked her to un¬ 
derline it both with red and black ink. 
And he had reminded her that, no matter 
what might befall her in life, God and His 
promises were ever steadfast and trust¬ 
worthy. It was hitching her chariot to a 
star, she thought, to find this beautiful 
Scripture line right now. Her turbulent 
thoughts seemed to harness into order. 
Her surging emotions, that had resembled 
a stormtossed sea, or a quivering craft 
upon troubled waves, now seemed to calm, 


90 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


and to find a sheltered haven. Her dreams 
stepped ashore, as it were, and found firm 
ground, found reality and peace. She felt 
the deep significance of a life surrendered 
entirely to God as she softly said to her¬ 
self : “I am in God’s hand, body and soul. 
I ask nothing more than that His will be 
done in my life. This is my fervent prayer. 
And then my fate is no longer of my own 
volition; it is God’s will.” She returned 
to bed and was soon fast asleep. 

The following day Fanny attended to 
her duties at school, and hurried home 
early in the afternoon. On the way she 
bought some flowers, and some bright 
colored autumn leaves with which to en¬ 
hance the already very cozy atmosphere 
of the Landers’ living room. 

“Would he come?” was a thought she 
could not help but entertain continually. 
For whether he would or not was con¬ 
ditional upon his being able to get away 
from his work! 

Fanny spent extra time upon her toilet 
that evening. She was ostensibly anxious 
to look her best. Even old Anna observed 
the fussing, and teasingly remarked: “Just 


.-.— NB 

LETTERS AND POEMS 91 

as I expected! Miss Fanny is already in 
love !” 

Twilight came. Fanny lit the lamps 
earlier than usual. She looked intermit¬ 
tently at the clock. How slowly the time 
ticks on its round when one is waiting, is 
in suspense for the happening of an anti¬ 
cipated event! How quiet the house was! 

The slightest noise startled her. Was that 
knock on their door? No, it was not! “I 
believe I am nervous,” she thought. “If 
I only had not read those poems, I would 
not have felt so peculiarly about it all! 

Now I shall be so awkward and self-con¬ 
scious when I meet him.” 

“Perhaps you’d like to read those poems 
to me now, Fanny dear?” asked the moth¬ 
er, as if she wished to give Fanny some 
occupation while they awaited the arrival 
of their guest. 

“Oh mother, I neither can nor would 
like to read them just now.” 

“Or Stanley’s letter?” 

“No, mother, I simply can’t now—to¬ 
morrow . . 

“But I am truly very curious, Fanny. 


m 





92 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


There must be some profound secret in 
that letter!” 

Fanny was saved the necessity of an¬ 
swering this question, for the door bell 
sounded. Anna went into the corridor to 
let the guest in. 

“Oh,” sighed Fanny to herself. “If only 
I had not read those verses! I’ll be so 
stupidly unnatural in my behavior—I know 
I will!” 

But it was not he who had come! It was 
an old lady, long a friend of the family, 
who, so far as Fanny was concerned, was 
never more unwelcome than to-night. She 
was relentlessly curious about everything 
and everybody. She literally seemed to 
“smell” the tracks of something eventful. 
She was always on hand when news was 
being doled out, and happenings taking 
place. To keep her out of ones secrets 
was a task as impossible as keeping the 
cat away from the canary, whose cage 
has been placed on the floor! 

“Good evening, folks!” she ejaculated as 
she hustled into the spacious and pretty 
living-room. “My, how you have lighted 
up and decorated your abode this evening! 















LETTERS AND POEMS 


93 


You must have been expecting me!” Her 
voice was crisp with humor as she spoke 
her greetings. 

Fanny’s response was rather indifferent. 
Her mother greeted the worthy lady more 
cordially, and bid her have the most com¬ 
fortable seat in the room. Old Anna 
suppressed an understanding grin, and 
thought: “What a good time Miss Fanny 
will have now!” 

Before long the door bell rang again. 
Fanny could hardly repress her restless¬ 
ness as she strained her ears for the sound 
of the voice at the door. Yes, it was a 
man’s voice! Anna announced: “Captain 
Brandt!” All eyes immediately sought the 
living-room doorway. But the lady visitor 
managed simultaneously to direct one of 
hers toward Fanny. In a moment a tall, 
handsome man in seaman’s uniform ent¬ 
ered. His fine, open-souled countenance 
shone with pleasure. Fanny inventoried 
his appearance at a glance. His hair and 
mustache were dark; his brow high and 
broad; his keen blue eyes bespoke candor 
and kindly humor. 

The captain greeted Fanny’s mother with 






94 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


' U. • Ii!IU2 ' T.1 


much delight, and was then introduced to 
Fanny and to old Mrs. Hagerflykt. He 
greeted Fanny very heartily from Stanley 
and Elizabeth, and with a few words re¬ 
vealed his joy to be friend with them. He 
also expressed his delight over the op¬ 
portunity they had given him to carry 
good wishes to mother and sister. The 
conversation became animated. For there 
was so much to relate concerning Stanley 
and Elizabeth and their mission work in 
England. 

“You will do us the honor to take tea 
with us, will you not, Captain Brandt ?” 
asked Fanny’s mother. 

The captain arose and bowed and thanked 
her most heartily. Indeed, it was he who 
felt honored! 

Fanny poured the tea. As she passed 
the cup to him, her hand trembled. She 
felt how he glanced at her now and then, 
yes, often! But when she would dare to 
cast a look across the table to him, he 
very kindly turned his attention to her 
mother, or to the old lady Hagerflykt. It 
seemed as though he purposely tried to 
avoid her gaze. Was he shy? Fanny did 














LETTERS AND POEMS 


95 


not join very freely in the conversation. 
She preferred to watch the others and 
listen to their witticisms. Captain Brandt 
seemed to know just how to entertain old 
ladies! “What a truly sympathetic, kind¬ 
ly nature he has!” thought Fanny. “So in¬ 
telligent, so witty, so at ease!” She man¬ 
aged to ask him a question or two. But 
they were very ordinary, uninteresting 
ones. And when he turned to her as he 
answered them, their eyes met—just had 
to meet! “The same mild, beautiful eyes!” 
thought he. “The same attraction in his 
gaze!” thought she. 

She hardly dared to meet his gaze again 
during the teatime. She could feel, how¬ 
ever, how his glance appraised her time 
and again during the meal. It seemed as 
if he were taking “snapshot pictures” of 
her, that he might later develope them in 
his mind, and view her at various angles 
in his memory. 

How quickly the evening sped! It was 
nearly ten o’clock when Captain Brandt 
commenced to bid adieu. As he rose to 
bid Fanny’s mother good-night and thank 
her for the delightful evening he spent in 




'• --• —: ' : 




















96 




THE WAYS OF YOUTH 




her sanctuary, he spied the piano in one 
corner of the room. 

“Please forgive me,” he exclaimed. “Per¬ 
haps I am asking too big a favor, but sure¬ 
ly, Miss Landers, you are a musician, ac¬ 
complished like your sister. Perhaps you 
would grant me a little song as a memory 
gem from this happy evening?” 

Fanny blushed. 

“I do play a little,” she confessed, “but I 
have not a beautiful voice, such as my sis¬ 
ter has.” 

“Oh, you both play and sing well,” said 
the lady visitor. “Sea-faring men seldom 
hear singing by woman’s voice. Surely, 
you will not refuse Captain Brandt such a 
delight!” 

Fanny shook her head. 

“Forgive me, if my request is untimely. 
The muse does not always feel attuned to 
music at our bidding!” said the captain, 
smiling good naturedly. 

But Fanny had already opened a hymn- 
book. She seated herself at the piano and 
began singing: 





























LETTERS AND POEMS 


97 


“Hold Thou my hand, I am so weak and helpless, 
Alone I fear to travel on my way. 

Hold Thou my hand, 0 gracious, loving Jesus, 

For by Thy side I’ll neither faint nor stray. 

Hold Thou my hand, keep me in close communion 
With Thee, my hope, my light, my joy in life! 
Hold Thou my hand, keep me from stumbling, 
falling; 

Lift my desires above earth’s sordid strife. 

Hold Thou my hand, when sorrows overtake me, 
And hearten with Thy love my worried soul. 
When Thou art near, no night is dark and hope¬ 
less— 

Thou showest me the distant sunlit goal!” 


Fanny sang naturally and feelingful. It 
touched the captain’s heart. He was “weak 
and helpless!” There were tears in his 
eyes as he thanked her. “I shall take the 
words and music of that hymn with me 
over the seas,” he said. “It is a sacred 
privilege to have the Master hold us by 
the hand—whether we are ashore or faring 
over the ocean.” 

“Will we not have the pleasure of again 
seeing you while your ship is in port, Cap- 


jjjj Mill Hill 1 ■ mniwmffyi.ngnjTTVl 









98 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


tain Brandt?” asked Fanny’s mother. Her 
voice was most cordial, and she extended 
him a hearty invitation to repeat his visit. 
Fanny seconded her mother’s words by 
giving him the most heartfelt, kindly look 
she was capable of. The old lady Hager- 
flykt, whose eyes were keen as the sea¬ 
gull’s, did not fail to notice this. 

“Nothing would give me greater pleas¬ 
ure than to come again,” said Captain 
Brandt. “But, alas, I must accompany my 
ship to sea to-morrow!” He thanked his 
hostesses for their hospitality, and prom¬ 
ised to carry their many greetings to Stan¬ 
ley and Elizabeth, whom he hoped to meet 
again upon the arrival of his ship in Eng¬ 
land. He pressed Fanny’s hand very firm¬ 
ly and tenderly, she thought, as he bid her 
good-bye. And looking straight into her 
eyes with his kindly, eloquent gaze, he 
said: “I did so much appreciate your 
song!” 

The next moment he had gone out into 
the night. Mrs. Hagerflykt soon bade 
good-night also and departed to her apart¬ 
ment in the building across the street. 

“Well, Fanny, didn’t you like the captain 


LETTERS AND POEMS 99 

very much?” said her mother as soon as 
she and Fanny were alone. 

“Yes, mother, I do like him.” 

“But you were so silent all evening?” 

“I’ll tell you why, mother, if you are 
not too sleepy to listen. Would you like 
to hear Stanley’s letter now? And the 
poems?” 

“Indeed, I would!” 

Fanny disappeared for a moment into 
her own room, then returned with the let¬ 
ter and its appendicies. She read them to 
her mother, betraying, in spite of her will 
not to, the pent up emotion in her soul. 

When she had finished reading, she 
gazed at her mother to see what impres¬ 
sion it all had made upon her. Her mother 
had covered her eyes with her handker¬ 
chief. She was weeping! 

“Mother, dear, are you grieved?” said 
Fanny, drawing her mother tenderly to her 
bosom. “Perhaps you think that I might 
leave you, might want to go away with 
him? I would not want to do that. But 
now you realize why I was so silent during 
the evening. And then that curious old 






100 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


Mrs. Hagerflykt, too, had to come and 
observe it all!” 

“Dear child,” said Fanny’s mother, “I 
am not grieved. I am glad! One of my 
dearest wishes has always been that you 
should marry—should marry a good man. 
And I have been grieved when you have 
insisted that woman can fight her own 
battles with life and be just as happy with¬ 
out the men. Such argument is not im¬ 
pulsed by your natural cravings. And the 
lonely life of the single woman can never 
be happy. Youth and strength and beauty 
and resiliency are fleeting. It is not easy 
to live alone when old age overtakes one. 
If I had not had you to comfort me in my 
widowhood, I would have had a very sad 
time indeed.” 

“Mother, do you mean you wish to get 
rid of me? And I love you so devotedly?” 

“Of course not, my child! How can you 
think such thoughts? You misunderstand 
me! I am frail and have not many years 
to live. To know that you were well and 
happily married, like Elizabeth, would make 
me feel happy. I have often prayed God 


a* 




<) *y 











101 


J "e. ■ : ■ 




LETTERS AND POEMS 



that you might find the right and good 
man, Fanny. 

“But when you do marry, be a helpmeet 
to your husband. Try to understand him. 
Do not treat him as I treated your father 
during the first years of our married life. 
I was a spoiled child in my father’s home, 
—an only child, you know. And I had not 
the ideals to make my married life a truly 
beautiful partnership with your father. I 
have regretted it many times since. And 
especially have i grieved about it since 
your father died.” 

Fanny’s mother gave way to bitter weep¬ 
ing. 

“Dear little mother,” pleaded Fanny. 
You must not cry so. Haven’t you asked 
God’s forgiveness for all those failings? 
And how tender you were to father during 
his last years on earth! And now he is 
waiting for you in the heavenly home 
where there are no misunderstandings or 
discords.” 

“Oh, I know it,” sobbed her mother. 
“But memories are cruel when they are of 
bitter things. Those poems the Captain 
has written stirred memories to life in me. 


W _ : r • i.. f A': i 








102 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


Your father used to write verses, too. He 
wrote poetry in my honor when we were 
young lovers, although his verse-making 
had not the grace of the Captain’s.” 

'‘Did father write poetry?” said Fanny 
in surprise. “You have never before told 
me that! Have you kept any of the verses 
he wrote? It would be delightful to me 
to read them!” 

“Yes, I have some of them,” said her 
mother, “but the paper is yellow and mel¬ 
low of age. Now that you have so kindly 
read the Captain’s verses to me, I shall try 
to find some of father’s poetry and read 
to you.” 

Mrs. Landers went into her room and 
soon reappeared before Fanny with a small 
packet of letters in her hand. 

“Perhaps you’d like to read them to me, 
Fanny,” she said. “You know I cannot see 
as well as formerly, and the writing is 
aged in these manuscripts.” 

“Nothing would please me more, mother 
dear. Why, it’s a real festive time to¬ 
night, isn’t it? Just think—verses by father 
to you—when you were young and ro¬ 
mantic !” 


LETTERS AND POEMS 


103 


Fanny opened and smoothed out papers. 
From some of the old torn missives faded 
remnants of pressed flowers fell out. In 
the folds of one lay a little bunch of lily 
of the valley. Accompanying this old faded 
tribute was a poem, entitled: “To Selma/’ 
Fanny began reading: 

“This is your day, your own sweet day, 

And humbly I dare come your way, 

With flowers few that whisper true: 

’We are for you! We are for you! 

And please do listen, while we tell, 

How John did pluck us in the dell 

And bring us to his queen to plead 
That she unto his wish give heed! 

Though poor and undeserving, he 
Doth ask that she his bride will be! 

Oftimes he’s prayed that God above 
Should guide and bless him in his love. 

His love, dear Selma, is so deep— 

It haunts him waking and asleep! 

His love is faithful, pure and true, 

’Tis all for you! ’Tis all for you! 

Yet should you spurn his love, say No, 
Without a murmur would he go 

His way alone, humbly aware 
That God will keep you in His care!— 












* 




Fanny had read aloud. Her mother was 
again weeping. 

“Mother dear, do not weep so!” begged 
Fanny. “It might make you ill! You 
know that father is happy in the heavenly 
home!” 

“Yes, Fanny, he is happy in the heav¬ 
enly home, if ever anyone is. For he was 

how he tru 
was very si 
he went to 
Bible too m 
to entertair 
our home, 
burden to I 
have more 
questions o 
most of th( 
my marriaj 
he especiall 





* 

























LETTERS AND POEMS . 105 

function, I deliberately refused and went 
to the theater instead.” 

Fanny’s mother had to stop speaking for 
a moment and wipe her tears. Then she 
cried: “Oh you dear husband! You were 
so good and so kind!” 

“Mother, please do not dwell on these 
memories. I am afraid, too, that our 
neighbors might hear how you weep!” 
said Fanny. 

To draw her mother’s attention away 
from the memories of her father, Fanny 
asked: “Tell me, mother, what would you 
think—if, if—Captain Brandt should pro¬ 
pose marriage to me, what should I an¬ 
swer him? I do not know him well. It 
is difficult to judge of our fellowmen. 
Suppose we really could be congenial! 
Suppose, after we had learned to know 
one another better, we found we could 
not agree, were not suited to one another 
—that the infatuation we have had for 
each other was but admiration at a dis¬ 
tance? That would be a rude awakening, 
indeed!” 

Fanny’s mother stopped weeping. “Dear 
child,” she said. “Whether or not one is 


106 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


suited to the other is something that no 
one can positively know until after mar¬ 
riage. Living together in the every day 
life will test and prove that.” 

“But then it is too late, if one should 
find out that we are not suited. Then we 
are already in the trap! That seems to me 
a calamitous time to realize a mistake!” 

“Not necessary to speculate so, Fanny! 
Even in so serious a decision as the con¬ 
sent to marry, God is present to lead 
those who trust in Him. If married life 
at first should have its difficulties, and 
things not run entirely smooth, the Chris¬ 
tian’s common sense will overcome all 
this. I confess there was a time in my 
married life when I actually wished my¬ 
self free from your father. But that was 
in the time of my pride and folly. Were 
he to come back to earth, and we were 
young once more, and I allowed to choose 
a husband from among a thousand men, 
I would choose him!” 

Her mother paused, then went on to 
say: “When a noble and honorable Chris¬ 
tian gentleman—one who truly loves the 
Lord—proposes marriage to a girl to 


LETTERS AND POEMS 


107 


whom he feels attracted, there is no risk 
for her to accept him, provided, of course, 
she otherwise can love him—feels her¬ 
self drawn to him in mutual admiration. 
What did Rebekah know about Isaac, in 
that long ago time, when by proxy Abra¬ 
ham’s servant proposed marriage to her? 
When her father asked if she would con¬ 
sent to go with him, she unhesitatingly 
answered yes, and went trustingly and 
gladly to meet the future. Can’t you have 
just as big a faith?” 

There was silence for a moment. Then 
Fanny’s mother continued: “I was deeply 
impressed with the Captain last evening 
when we had the opportunity to converse 
alone. When he spoke of Stanley and 
Elizabeth, and now and then humbly re¬ 
ferred to himself, I felt as if I had known 
him a long, long time. He was open- 
hearted and charming. I could instantly 
detect that he is a clean and honorable 
fellow. I do not believe that his religion 
is a cloak. I think it is a through-and- 
through experience with him. Didn’t you 
notice how his eyes dimmed with tears 
when you sang that hymn for him?” 
























108 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


“Mother dear,” said Fanny. “You speak 
so beautifully in his behalf that I feel my¬ 
self rejoicing and certain that he is the 
one God has sent to me.” 

Fanny then told her mother about the 
dream she had had, and about the meeting 
with him shortly after by the cemetery 
gate. She also confessed that she had 
continued to dream and think of him—of 
her unknown hero. Long into that night 
Fanny and her mother talked. Never be¬ 
fore had they felt so close to one another, 
so confidential, so understanding. When 
they bade one another good-night in the 
wee hours, it was with a loving embrace, 
eloquent with the joy that had come to 
them that evening. 

The next morning Fanny mailed the 
Captain’s poems back to Stanley. But not 
until she had carefully copied them, for 
she wished to always keep them and read 
them over and over again. The more she 
read them, the more in love did she be¬ 
come with the poet! Her love was no 
longer a dream. It had come true! 

She kept wondering, and fantasied how 
he would propose to her! The days came 







LETTERS AND POEMS 

and went quickly, but somehow they came 
and went all too slowly for Fanny. Some¬ 
time her ecstasy became clouded a bit by 
the thought that possibly he had not got¬ 
ten a very favorable impression of her 
that evening of his visit, and had ceased 
to think about her. Interwoven with this 
thought was the old lady Hagerflykt! For 
if he was disappointed with his visit, she 
must have been largely to blame. Why 
did she have to bob in on the scene at 
such a critical time? If she hadn’t been 
present, Fanny felt sure, it would have 
been easier to ones self. That pesky old 
lady always did appear at inopportune 
times! Her voice always did have to 
sound when it was least desired! 

Whenever the mailman came, Fanny 
felt a strange curiosity, and eagerly scan¬ 
ned the postmarks and the handwritings. 
But day went and day came—without a 
word from him! Fanny had expected a 
line—a card perhaps—thanking his host¬ 
esses for the pleasant evening. But not 
even a card came! It began to be painful 
—this silence! Yet, why should she ex¬ 
pect a letter from him? Love is that un- 
























110 THE WAYS OF YOUTH 

reasonable! In Fanny’s life it had be¬ 
come like a great floodtide. All her 
thoughts and feelings dashed like a turbu¬ 
lent stream toward a single outlet—to¬ 
ward him. So mighty became the anguish 
of the situation, that she could not sleep 
nights. Her appetite failed. She grew 
pale and nervous. Many a time she was 
tempted to write to Elizabeth and confess 
to her about this great love that qualmed 
in her soul. Perhaps, Elizabeth would 
somehow contrive to give Captain Brandt 
an inkling of it! But she conquered the 
temptation. She talked about it only with 
God and with her mother, being very dis¬ 
creet, however, in her confessions to her 
mother. For she could not bear to even 
let her mother know the intensity of her 
passion. 

What if he had taken ill, and lay in a 
hospital somewhere—among strangers! Or 
his ship had met disaster! Fanny’s imagi¬ 
nation knew no bounds in fumbling for 
reasons why he did not write her. 

Then, one day she found a letter on 
her writing table,—a letter unlike all 
others that she had ever received. Yes, 


LETTERS AND POEMS 


111 


it was his handwriting, and it was ad¬ 
dressed to her! It was postmarked Lon¬ 
don ! With trembling fingers Fanny opened 
the precious missive. She read: 

“Dear Miss Landers. 

First, let me apologize humbly for my 
breach of etiquette. I regret exceedingly 
that I could not find time to write im¬ 
mediately after my very happy visit at 
your home and thank you for the inestim¬ 
able pleasure that evening brought me. 
I did so much want to do so, and also 
send flowers as interpreters of the happy 
wishes I cannot find words to express. 
But we have no mailboxes and no florists 
at sea, regretably enough! Our trip, this 
time, was long and stormy, with a little 
bad luck to boot. This is the dark and 
misty time of the year, you know. And 
immediately that we came to port, work 
and workmen’s troubles have kept me 
very busy. 

But, if you can forgive me—well, I 
venture to ask it! And to thank you and 
your dear mother with all my heart for 
the hospitality you so bountifully showered 
upon me. I had such a pleasant visit with 



112 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


your mother the first evening, and then, 
when she asked me to come again the 
following evening, my joy was doubled. 

For there was nothing I more wished 
to do! And she said that you would be 
at home then! And you, Miss Landers, 
have been in my thoughts many years, 
ever since your father’s death and your 
visit to the cemetery near my home, and 
your presence that time at the church ser¬ 
vice and later in the little mission house. 
I hardly dare to hope that you would re¬ 
member the awkward sailor boy who 
stood by the churchyard gate as you, your 
mother and sister, came down the path 
from your father’s grave. But there was 
something in your gaze, in your manner, 
in your whole being, that gave me an im¬ 
pression of joy so deep that it never left 
me, and I have ever since held your image 
sacred in my heart. From that meeting 
with you—your gaze—I count the days 
upon a better way, for I then began to 
compare myself with you, and it brought 
me face to face with the debt I owed my 
mother and my God. All this is too full 
of content to relate here. 



























LETTERS AND POEMS 113 


But now I am bold enough to tell you 
that I love you! I love you with all my 
heart and all my desire, and ask you to 
give me your verdict, so to speak! The 
love I have born for you during the years I 
did not know you personally, only ancho¬ 
red itself more firmly in my soul the 
evening I had the coveted opportunity of 
meeting you and making your acquaint¬ 
ance close at hand. 

You mentioned that your brother-in-law 
had told you that I am a professed Chris¬ 
tian. Yes, I am happy to profess my dear 
Lord and Master, and only regret that I 
cannot serve him more perfectly. In so 
far as I understand His grace, I am a 
follower of Jesus Christ. This I have 
been since that Sunday when I saw you 
in the churchyard chapel and in the little 
mission house. For on that day I made 
my decision for Him. God used you, in 
His wonderful way, to make me see the 
error of my ways and to seek His for¬ 
giveness and peace. 

But, it would be unfair to you, were I 
not to tell you that I am a man whose 
opportunities for culture have been very 















114 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


small. I have tried to increase my knowl¬ 
edge by attending school evenings, and 
studying and reading during my spare 
time. And I have passed maritime ex¬ 
aminations, so that I have both my first- 
mate and captain’s papers. At present I 
have a good position and a fair salary, so 
that I believe I could support a comfort¬ 
able little home. And there is always the 
possibility of promotion. 

I dare not think that you will deign to 
answer this letter. But I have a lively 
imagination, and my great love for you 
spurs me to almost insane frankness and 
boldness! And I have even dared to specu¬ 
late how impossible it would be for you 
and your dear mother to part, and to think 
—since that evening when I had the de¬ 
light of meeting her and talking with her 
alone—how wonderful it would be if she 
could consent to be my mother, too. I felt 
so secure and happy in her presence, just 
as if I had been her son. She reminded 
me so much of my own dear mother, who 
passed away to glory when I was but six¬ 
teen years old. 

Well, dear Miss Landers, now it has 


LETTERS AND POEMS 


115 

happened—this inevitable thing of confes¬ 
sing to you what has been and is in the 
depths of my heart. I have often con¬ 
templated how I should do it, and wond¬ 
ered how you would take is. I wonder 
now if you will answer this letter? But I 
hope that you will tell me how you think 
of me. No matter which way—please tell 
me! May God’s will be done. And I shall 
not expect your answer until you have 
learned something more about me. But, 
perhaps, your brother-in-law will vouch 
for me? 

How I wish that I could send you some 
flowers! I would so have liked to send 
you some lily of the valley, for they would 
best interpret my thoughts of you, and 
show you the beauty that you have meant 
in my drab life these years that I have 
dreamed of you. With the words of your 
song—the hymn you sang for me in part¬ 
ing: “Hold Thou my hand,”—echoing in 
my ear and heart, I bring this letter, writ¬ 
ten in fear and trembling, but also in joy, 
to a close. Your lover, 





Alfred Brandt.” 




















116 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


It was late autumn in the great out-of- 
doors. The shadows were lurking and 
growing from twilight into night. But in 
the warm light of the Landers’ living 
room, and in the heart of Fanny Landers, 
it was springtime! The sun was high on 
the horizon of her life, and lily of the 
valley bloomed at her feet! After a little 
while of just sitting and looking at the 
letter she had just read, she rose and went 
into her own room. She shut the door. 
She kneeled by her bed. She wanted to 
be alone with God. It was His leading 
that she sought, and the assurance that 
His will be done. 

Then she sought her mother. She let 
her read the letter. 

“Mother, dear, what do you think of it? 
He writes so frankly, does he not?” 

“My child, I would say that it is a per¬ 
fect love letter! And I am happy because 
he wrote it! And how beautifully he 
writes of me! May I read that again!” 

Fanny let her mother read the letter 
through again. 

Mrs. Landers wiped her tears away as 
she handed the letter back to her daughter. 

















a—MlHMC-'-gr 


*ni aigi r su nu U iiai ' . ’ar'jii nira i jasai ram i iiBi i nro 



LETTERS AND POEMS 

“I feel that this is of the Lord,” she said. 
“God has sent this man to you. How do 
you feel about it yourself?” 

“There is no doubt in my soul about 
it,” said Fanny. “I am already his in my 
heart.” 

“God bless you, Fanny. You deserve a 
good husband, for you have always been 
a good daughter.” 

Mother and daughter embraced. For a 
long time they were silent. In their hearts 
was contentment. The living-room seemed 
so peaceful and cozy—more peaceful and 
cozy than ever before. Nor was that peace 
disturbed though the world outside rum¬ 
bled noisily on with its shouting and bust¬ 
ling amid the honk of automobiles and 
dingling of trolley cars. 















VI. 

In the Church. 

A NOTHER winter had come and gone. 

It had been a mild winter, and spring 
came early. But it was a long and cold 
spring, so it took time for the world to 
wake up from winter’s sleep and put on its 
verdure robes. 

But when the warm weather did come 
at last—toward the end of May and be¬ 
ginning of June—everything burst forth 
at once. The fields grew green over night. 
One could almost see the growth of the 
grain and grass in minute process. Bush 
and tree bloomed in profusion. The wild 
flowers in meadow and woodland danced 
to the merry gusts of the south wind as 
if there were nothing in the world but 
gladness and delight. Gardens flourished 
in the sunlight. The birds rejoiced as 
they built nests and scurried for worms. 
Nature was hurrying with delight toward 
the high days of summer. The whole 
earth seemed full of beauty, life, hope and 
joy. 

118 


IN THE CHURCH 


119 


In the midst of all this gaiety the chapel 
bells in the. churchyard tolled dirges, while 
funeral processions stepped solemnly along 
the walks. The somberness of the mourn¬ 
ers marked deep contrast to all the light 
and joy of Nature. Among the dead to 
be sunk in the new-made graves were 
young folks and old folks. The time of 
new leaves and rising sap is fatal to the 
weak among humans. It is a time when 
many youthful dreams are thwarted and 
nipped in the bud. And many a heart 
has had to face the glorious summer with 
a fall-time outlook upon life—sadness and 
emptiness of joylessness! Such is life! 
Nothing lasting under the heavens ! Con¬ 
trasts ! Questioning! 

Yet the birds in the trees over chapel 
and tombstone sang not of death and cor¬ 
ruption ! They sang only of life and trans¬ 
figuration ! They sang of the love that 
could change the toll of church bell from 
dirge to bridal march! 

Perhaps, ah, more than likely, it was 
not the same birds that sang each year. 
And on this particular day in early sum¬ 
mer, surely it was not the same birds who 



120 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


had sung there some nine or ten years 
before. It must have been their grand¬ 
children in several generations down the 
line! The life of a bird is surely not long. 
Owls and cats and many other enemies 
lurk by. Wings wear out. Cold and frost 
and hunger come. In the long migrations 
many a songster has fallen by the way- 
side, tired, and died. But their descendants 
fly joyfully on the same flights, singing 
as they go. 

Life is strong! It weaves its garlands 
and tunes its music above the graves. 
Should the garlands break or the music 
fail betimes, there are ever new flowers 
and greens with which to weave, and vi¬ 
brant tones from which to hearten and 
attune the instruments of joy. New beauty, 
new joy, new song! Wonderful, puzz¬ 
ling life! 

There was joy in the churchyard this 
day. There was a procession—a steady 
stream of people wending its way toward 
the chapel. There were many young folks 
and many old folks. The little church 
was decorated within and without with 
garlands. Fastening the greens to each 























IN THE CHURCH 


121 


pew were blushing peonies, that smiled 
all over their pretty faces. The chapel 
auditorium was arranged for guests. The 
general public was allowed seating and 
standing place everywhere except in the 
first few rows of pews, near the altar. In 
the balcony, by the organ, a choir had 
gathered. 

Lily of the valley graced the altar. 

The wedding guests filled the church to 
capacity. Most of the women folks were 
dressed in white, and had adorned them¬ 
selves with flowers. The men folks had 
relieved the usual somberness of their 
Sunday best garbs with white vests and 
flowers in the coat lapel. 

Would the wedding party ever arrive? 
It was not an every day event to have 
such a wedding in the little churchyard 
chapel. Folks did not often choose so 
humble a place to hold their nuptials. The 
curiosity of the audience was intense. 
Among the singers on the balcony were 
old Captain Berg and his two daughters. 
Many of the ladies in the main auditorium 
were whispering to one another. There 
was a general wishing to know who this 


122 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


one was and who that one was! There 
was quite a general and audible apprecia¬ 
tion of the decorations, and those who had 
not before seen the church admired its 
native beauty and simplicity. A bird or 
two, bold enough to peep in through the 
open windows, chirpped a wedding march 
in advance. 

Then the organ began to sing. It was 
the wedding march. Every head was 
turned toward the entrance. Yes, there 
came the wedding party! Bridesmaids and 
ushers walked slowly toward the chancel. 
The minister had already taken his place 
by the altar. Then came the bride. Then 
the groom. The bride was beautiful in 
white. She carried a bouquet of lily of 
the valley. By the altar both bowed their 
heads in silent prayer. The choir sang a 
beautiful anthem. And then the marriage 
ceremony took place. Again the choir 
sang. It sang a hymn of joy, a prayer 
for the happiness of the bridal pair, com¬ 
posed especially in their honor. 

“What a handsome pair!” whispered 
many lips as the bride and groom turned 
their faces toward the audience. And as 


IN THE CHURCH 


123 


they marched down the aisle toward the 
entrance again, there was much bustle 
among the guests. 

“Who would have thought,” said one 
little old lady, “that that Brandt boy would 
ever come to this?” 

“Yes,” said her neighbor, “old man 
Brandt has certainly cause to be proud 
of him now! Such distinguished folks as 
he has now acquired as relatives, I am 
sure he has never seen before.” 

“Wouldn’t his mother rejoice,” said an¬ 
other, “if she could see Alfred now?” 

“He has had good luck, all right,” ex¬ 
claimed one who had known him since he 
was a tiny boy. “Folks say she is wealthy. 
And she certainly is pretty!” 

“Luck? Some folks are always talking 
about luck!” growled a little fat man, who 
had overheard the women’s remarks. “But 
there isn’t so much luck in the world as 
one might suppose! It all depends upon 
your own grit. If Captain Brandt had 
been like many other young fellows in 
this community, how far do you suppose 
he would have fared? If he had spent 
his days by drinking and dallying? He 


124 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


turned his attention to better things. He 
is a professing Christian, you know.” 

“Well,” said one of the women folk, 
“everybody who is a professing Christian 
does not have the luck that he has had! 
I suppose much depends, too, upon the 
way one uses ones natural gifts.” 

“What does it help anyone who has 
natural good gifts, if he abuses them? 
Drinks! Brawls! Lives like a fool?” 

“H’m, h’m!” nodded the others. 

A dressmaker, standing among another 
group of women at the entrance, exclaim¬ 
ed, as she watched the bride and groom 
depart in their equipage: “What a hand¬ 
some bridegroom!” 

“Yes,” said one of her companions, “and 
did you see that younger Berg girl weep 
during the ceremony? You can be sure 
she was wishing she were the lucky 
bride!” 

“Nothing to wonder at,” continued an¬ 
other gossiper. “Who wouldn’t have liked 
to win Mm? He is a prize to this com¬ 
munity. What a bevy of saintly swains 
we would have for our daughters to choose 


IN THE CHURCH 


125 


among, if all the boys in our town were 
like Kim!” 

And so the gossip kept up as the folks, 
who had long known Alfred Brandt and 
his early days in the home community, 
journeyed back to their humdrum lives af¬ 
ter the wedding festivities were over. 

But that evening, when twilight had be¬ 
gun, Captain Brandt and his beamingly 
happy bride came to the churchyard. They 
were dressed for a journey. But they 
carried bouquets of lily of the valley. Each 
accompanied the other to two graves— 
the one of her father and the other of 
his mother. They wanted to have them 
share in their great happiness. There was 
a simple but beautiful tombstone at the 
head of Alfred’s mother’s resting place. 
Fanny’s father slept under a stately monu¬ 
ment. As the happy bride and groom 
stood first by the one grave and then by 
the other, they thanked God for the won¬ 
derful gift of Christian parents. They 
felt that it had been largely the prayers 
of this mother and of this father, whose 
spirits were now among the blessed in 
glory, that had destined them to the joy 





126 


THE WAYS OF YOUTH 


of Christian living and brought them to¬ 
gether in mutual love and understanding. 
Nor were they tears of sadness that wat¬ 
ered the lily of the valley, placed lovingly 
on the sod above the sleeping ones. They 
were tears of joy and thanksgiving! 

As they walked toward the cemetery 
gate, Alfred said: “Fanny, please stand 
there a moment !” Then he walked to 
the gate where he had stood the first 
time he had ever seen her. 

“Fanny, do you recall ?” 

“Dear Alfred, I remember it!” 

“Blessed be my mother’s God,” said he, 
“that He let me meet you here. And 
blessed be that moment when you let me 
see the beauty of your soul—when you 
deigned to gaze at me with those wonder¬ 
ful eyes of yours!” 

And Fanny answered: “Blessed be my 
father’s God, the dream He gave me, and 
the meeting with you!” 

A minute of silence. Then the twitter 
of a bird in a tree close by. Alfred took 
his bride by the arm, and in close embrace 
they went out through the churchyard 
gate, out to meet the future, a strong 


IN THE CHURCH 



man and a noble woman, leaving behind 
them the sacred ground, where for them 
love had known its first pangs, and found 
its holy altar. 



































































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